Mindless Majority
by Laerkstrein
Summary: -POST-TDK- After an impressive escape from Arkham Asylum, the chaotic Joker returns to Gotham with a vengeance and a hellion accomplice, to prove that Gotham's Dark Knight is anything but "incorruptible." Without Rules: Part I
1. Silence

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Joker or any of the other Batman characters in this fic. They all belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight. _I only own my plot and any original characters that I may choose to include.

**Mindless Majority**

**Chapter 1:** Silence

**A/N: **Based on, and dedicated to the late actor Heath Ledger for his magnificent role as the Joker in The Dark Knight. T.T I finally got the guts to put up my own TDK fic after reading some really good ones.

**Song:** _A Little Push _by _Hans Zimmer & James Newton Howard_

* * *

The sickly gray walls of Arkham Asylum gave off an eerie aura that sent chills through all who wandered its corridors. The flickering lights seemed to embrace the suffocating terror within the halls, and the heavily plated steel doors that trapped the asylum's inhabitants cast a frightful glare upon the passersby.

Arkham's "best" were contained on the eighth floor, completely isolated from the goings on in the outside world. Nothing awaited such demons except the death penalty, but the chances of any of them even making it that far, were slim to none. Heavily armed guards paced the halls, keeping a watchful eye on one cell in particular. Arkham's newest addition to the "family" of maniacs, was a psychotic bastard with no ulterior motive other than to watch Gotham burn and toy with Batman.

Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon had personally delivered the lunatic to Arkham, warning the head administrator, Jerimiah Arkham, that the asylum's newest arrival was far more dangerous than Johnathan Crane and his lethal fear toxin. And that fact alone, was reason enough for Jeremiah to double the security for that special new addition. Strangly, the madman had no name, no other alias, no matches on DNA, prints, or anything else. All clothing was custom with no labels, and the only things in his pockets were lint and a large assortment of knives. Or, as Gordon had so calmly said, "Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint."

With the Joker, it was just one question after another.

The guards unfortunate enough to be assigned to watch over the mass-murdering psychopath were less than thrilled. The bone-chilling laughter that rang through the corridor was almost enough to unnerve the guards and send them into hysterics worthy of a padded cell. It was a sheer nightmare. And several of them, including the new recruits, had been so desperate to bore the Joker's nightmarish laugh from their minds, that they had taken a bullet to the head while on duty. Others had been able to find a little solitary confinement in the office of a Gotham therapist.

But for those poor bastards who survived, therapy wasn't nearly enough to cure them.

The events eventually became a sort of daily routine. The Joker would erupt into a fit of hysterical laughter, for no known reason, and the guards would either take a bullet or run like hell to inform the head administrator that they couldn't work in the madhouse any longer. The guards that remained were, obviously, more than capable of holding their own against the Joker, for which Jeremiah was grateful. One of the new recruits that had been sane enough to remain, was Mark Daniels, a six-month graduate from Gotham University.

Some of Mark's coworkers had told him that they had been at Arkham for years, which made him compare their apparent sanity to that of the freaks they monitored. The "results" weren't always very reassuring. Background stories often said a lot about a person, but Mark wasn't too sure he _wanted _to know the life stories of his new "friends." The dreadful silence that hung about was almost as much of a hell as the manic laughter that rang out at random intervals throughout the shifts. It was never easy trying to keep the fucking psychopath quiet, because the more they talked shit at him, the harder he'd laugh.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

The silence was, once again, shattered by the laughter, driving both the guards and prisoners crazy. One of the guards near the elevator shot up from his seat and stalked to the cell, loading his rifle. A card key was swiped and the door buzzed as it unlocked and opened. The guard pointed his weapon at the giggling bastard within the cell.

"Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch. I'm through with your shit. One more outburst like that, and I'll let the bat take care of you."

"It's the same thing every time," came the response. "You guys are almost as bad, if not worse, than those mob fools. You're all in the same sad situation. Always trying to control your _pathetic _little worlds..."

"This bastard's far from being a normal criminal," one of the other guards said with a snicker.

"'Normal'is such a... _relative _term. If you think about it, no one is 'normal'_. _Who's to say that all of this," the Joker waved gestured at his surroundings, "isn't 'normal', and that which we call 'abnormal' is, in fact--"

"Stow it!!" the guard barked. "I don't wanna hear another word outta you!! Now wipe that goddamn smirk off your face, before I come in there and blow it off!!"

The door slammed, and the Joker began humming some nonsensical tune under his breath.

"You'll see," he muttered. "I'll show ya. You '_civilized' _people won't last much longer... Enjoy the_ silence _while you can. When I get outta here, the silence won't come for a long time...."

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Hahaha!! Please review. I really wanna know what you guys think of it.


	2. A Little Push

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Joker or any of the other Batman characters used in my fic. They are all the property of DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight. _I only own the plot and any other characters that I may choose to include.

**Chapter 2: **A Little Push

**A/N: **Okay. Just so you know, I couldn't sleep all night, so this chapter was written at like 4:00 AM. Don't ask why. I have horrible sleeping habits. XD Now.... _on with it!!!_

**Song:** _Dance With The Devil _by _Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

At the most unexpected moments almost every day, the bone-chilling laughter erupted from the Joker's cell, echoing throughout the corridors. Several of the other prisoners began banging on the doors; some threatening the guards, cussing each other out, or just trying to get the damned clown to shut up.

"Shut the fuck up, you lunatics!!" one of the guards shouted, firing his rifle in an attempt to maintain order.

"I don't think that's gonna do anything but provoke them," Mark chimed, staring at the floor.

The other man sighed as the racket continued. "Yeah... I guess you're right."

It was about an hour before the prisoners quieted down, but the silence that followed actually... lasted.

The steady click, click, click of steel echoed down the hall, reaching the guards on duty. The sound, obviously, came from the Joker's cell, and the guards were growing tired of facing the mass-murdering clown day after day.

_What the fuck is that? _Mark thought, motioning for a few of the other guards to follow as he headed towards the Joker's cell.

He slid the card key into its proper place in the door, loading his rifle as the obnoxious buzz of the now unlocked door sounded. Backed by three other guards, Mark pushed the heavy door open and, surprisingly, found the Joker playing with a switchblade.

"How in God's name did you get that?" Mark demanded, pointing his rifle at the Joker.

"Hm?"

Mark glowerd at the clown. "I said, where the hell did you get that?!"

The Joker snickered, holding the knife loosely between two fingers, and humming a nonsensical tune that came out of nowhere. Mark edged his way into the cell, keeping the barrel of the gun on the Joker every second. "Answer the goddamn question, you bastard!! Where the fuck did you get that?"

This bastard was really starting to wear on Mark's nerves now, and he was itching to knock some sense into the deranged freak. Even if it meant killing him. Just looking at the man was like looking at the devil incarnate. He was clearly no ordinary criminal. Sure, he seemed to be human in appearance, but behind the mask or paint was a demon straight from the innermost bowels of hell. And it was clear to all who heard his voice, that he had no sense of remorse or empathy at all. He seemed to be somewhat sane, but he projected his bloodlust and desire to watch everything burn through everything he said and did.

_"Well..._ if your security were a little _tighter, _then I wouldn't have gotten in here with _this, _now would I?" the Joker replied, nonchalantly tossing the knife around.

Just down the hall, the elevator doors opened, and Jeremiah Arkham stepped out, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "What the devil is going on?" he demanded.

The door to the Joker's cell was open, he noted, and there was a rather large commotion coming from inside. To top it all off, it seemed that the clown had successfully managed to drive someone else over the damn edge. Without a second thought, Jeremiah headed right into the chaotic farce, trying to push his way through the small gathering of guards that had crowded around the door. The crowd suddenly dispersed, and the Joker could be seen holding one of the guards hostage with a switchblade through a fit of hysterical snickers.

Arkham was shocked. "What the hell is he doing with _that?!"_ he demanded, staring in shock at the blade.

Ignoring the administrator's question, the Joker forced his hostage against the wall, finishing the "game" with one simple question. _"Why so serious?"_

Arkham then realized that it had been a mistake to venture too close to the brewing chaos, and found himself flat on his back, staring into the Joker's manic eyes. "Wh-what do you want?!" the man choked, feeling the tip of the blade at his throat. The very last thing he had expected was to be at the Joker's mercy.

"Well... There was a doctor employed here not too long ago. What was her name...?" The Joker's eyes lit up when her name rolled off his tongue. "_Harleen Quinnzel."_

_Harle_en _Quin_nzel.

_Harlequin._

"She was supposedly locked up some time after Gotham ruined my fun with the ferries." His eyes were like those of a demon; dark, pursuing chaos and anarchy. It was as if Arkham were staring into the face of death's dark harbinger. "But the question is... _where _was she locked up? _Hm?"_

Jeremiah flinched as the blade was drawn a short distance against his flesh, drawing blood. "F-fifth floor," he choked. "Last door on the right... at the end of the first ha--" Arkham's words caught in his throat, drowning him with blood.

A smirk pulled at the corners of the Joker's scarred mouth. He leaned towards Jeremiah's ear, pulling the card keys from the man's shirt, and hissed. "Do you understand _now?_ All it takes is a little _push."_

* * *

I wanted Harley Quinn to be in TDK, and was rather disappointed when she wasn't, which is why she will be in this fanfic. Please review. :D


	3. Harleen Quinnzel

**Disclaimer:** I _still _don't own the Joker or any of the Batman characters in this fic. They all belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight. _I only own the plot and any original characters I may choose to include.

**Chapter 3: **Harleen Quinnzel

**A/N: **Harley finally makes her debut. The chapter title gives it all away.

**Song:** _It's All Over_ by _Three Days Grace_

* * *

On the that Gotham's Dark Knight had apprehended the Joker three months earlier, Harleen Quinnzel had supposedly lost her mind. She had been on one of the two ferries that were transporting citizens and condemned criminals out of Gotham. At the time, she'd been on her way to Manhattan to visit family. But that visit never came to be. And once the Joker had made his little announcement, everything went wrong.

His heartless voice had echoed over the speakers of both ferries, with simple "instructions." That is, if one could use such a civilized term for the heartless demands. Each of the ferries-one filled with innocent citizens, the other with condemned criminals-had been rigged with a hundred oil drums and a bomb set to go off at midnight. And the only way to avoid being blown up by the Joker, was to blow up the other boat with a detonator that had been provided. The orders had been simple. One of the ships was to be blown up by midnight, or the Joker would blow them both sky high.

Harleen sat crammed between two families, both with small children no older than seven. She enclosed herself in her coat in a futile attempt to protect herself from the heartless ideas that several of the other passengers were voicing aloud.

"Just hit the damn thing!" the man on her left shouted. "Those murderous bastards had their chance, and they screwed it up! We shouldn't have to die because of them!"

Harleen willed herself to move, but her body had been numbed by the fear of death. Death. She had seen so much of that already. Too much. She didn't want anyone to kill the criminals, but she didn't want to die either. Truly, this was a no-win situation. And poor Harleen, much like the other people on the ferries, was caught in the dead center of it all. Sadly, it was eventually put to a vote whether to kill the passengers on the other ship or not.

Harleen, who had been in and out of trouble during her twenty-four years of life, voted against killing the people on the other ship, because she believed that they deserved a second chance in life, just as she had been given. Of course, there was quite a bit of noise over the decision, but when the clock in Gotham Harbor struck midnight, everyone on board the ferries prepared themselves for the cold embrace of death.

But it never came.

Batman had come through for everyone on board the ferries, having succeeded in stopping the Joker and leaving the deranged clown hanging off the side of Prewitt Building. Once the ferries had been safely brought back to shore, Harleen headed for home, praying that the Joker's chaotic reign was at an end.

That night, her dreams were turbulent, full of agonizing pain and fear. She darted in and out of an oppressive haze that slowed her thoughts, leaving her vulnerable to manic laughter of the Joker that ravaged her mind. She saw faces, grinning at her from all sides; knives wielded by disembodied hands; rooms covered top to bottom in the thick, viscous blood of innocent people; and then... darkness.

Harleen had awakened, crying and screaming in terror. One of her neighbors had called the police, under the impression that Harleen was being attacked. But when the police arrived, they found her curled up and bloody in the bathroom amongst the shards of the shattered bathroom mirror.

They had tried for three days to calm her down, and everything failed. Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, her employer and head administrator at Arkham Asylum, had even gone down to the police station to try and talk some sense into her, but in the end, they had decided that her mental stability had failed her, and that it would be best if she were sent to Arkham Asylum, not as a psychiatrist, but as a patient.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

"Jesus, that was... _pathetic_," the Joker muttered, arriving in front of "Doctor" Quinnzel's cell. "Didn't think he'd crack _that_ easily... Is the Bat the _only_ one in this godforsaken city that can actually make things _interesting?" _

The door was made entirely of tempered steel and must have had a thickness of at least three inches, if not more. The Joker glanced at the flimsy plastic card key in his hand. If he_ hadn't _taken the pass key from Arkham, he would have needed at least seven pounds of dynamite to blow the fucking door down. Possibly more. A sardonic smirk crossed his face as he tossed the key to the floor. Then again, why make things _easy_ when you could make them _interesting_?

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Harleen Quinnzel lay on the padded bed in the cell, wondering if she'd ever see the shimmering lights of Gotham again.

_That bastard, _she thought. _It's his fault I'm trapped in this hell. God, why did I ever come here in the first place? Why did I get on that ferry? Why did I..._

A muffled bang sounded from the other side of the door, startling Harleen into sitting up, her blond hair falling over her shoulders. There was another bang as the door exploded inwards, charred pieces of metal flying around the cell as Harleen flopped to the floor in an attempt to avoid getting her head whacked off.

"Who's there?" she barked, wishing she wasn't cuffed. Had she been free to use her hands, she would have lunged straight into the heavy cloud where the door had been. Her face, previously contorted into a nasty grimace, paled to a ghostly white when the Joker entered the room.

"I thought the old man was _kidding _when he said you were in here," he sneered, stiffling a laugh. "I'm _pleasantly _surprised..."

Harleen glared at the Joker furiously as she growled, "_You_." Oh, the things she'd do to him if she had use of her hands. A few well-placed kicks to the groin would have done for a start.

"You were expecting, maybe, _Bat_man?" he smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking her over. "Or the Easter Bunny?"

She _hated _how he stared at her with such interest in those dark eyes. To a lunatic such as this, Harleen wouldn't have been surprised if he saw her as an easy target. Harleen twisted, managing to prop herself up against the wall. She moved steadily from side to side, wishing she could gouge his eyes out to keep him from staring. Didn't he have _any _manners? No. She supposed not, considering the fact that he was a mass-murdering lunatic.

"No," she shot back, ignoring his childish sarcasm. "I wasn't expecting to see anyone but Jeremiah."

He shrugged, drawing a switchblade from his pocket as he approached. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as he crouched before her, running the cool blade against her skin. "Sorry, doll, but Arkham's gone. The poor old guy met with a little... _accident_." He winked. "If you catch the drift."

_Shiiiiiiit, _she thought, rolling her eyes. _I'm a beautiful, successful woman who is handcuffed in a straitjacket, and I have a mass-murdering, psychopathic clown hitting on me. This is _not _my day... _She paused, running his words through her mind once again. If she had heard him correctly, he'd said that Arkham was...

"Gone? What the hell do you mean 'gone?'"

The only response he gave was that sickeningly painted grin. The nerve of the bastard. Harleen had no damned idea how the hell the Joker had gotten her cell open, and quite frankly, she didn't give a rat's ass. No... she took that last part back. The smoke, loud explosive sound, and the unmistakable scent of gunpowder told the whole story: _Dynamite._ And a damn good amount, to be honest.

Harleen squirmed, trying to inch herself away from his frightening gaze. "In comparison to my next question, Arkham's 'accident' is irrelevant. I just want to know how in God's name you got out of fucking _solitary confinement._"

Seriously? _Another _smile. Was he really _that _unoriginal?

"It was a simple, step-by-step process," he drawled, running a finger along the blade. "Step one: Get the idiot guards angry enough to open the door. Two: Take a hostage. Three: Kill him, and watch the rest of them take off. Four: Kill the old man, and then walk out like nothing happened. Easy as pie."

How sick could one person get? In all her years, she'd never met someone as maniacal as the chuckling man before her. "Is this your idea of a joke?" she demanded, glowering at him harshly. "If it is, I'm not laughing because it's _not _funny."

"Want proof, Harley girl?" he muttered, raising his eyebrows as he pulled her off the floor. "'Cause I've got undeniable evidence..."

Harleen pulled away from his grip once he cut her out of the straitjacket. The bastard seemed almost _eager _to fetch Arkham's corpse. He was far creepier than she had ever thought. "No, I don't want proof. And, for the record, my name is Harleen. And you're serious? You killed Jeremiah Arkham?" she scowled. She'd never even met the freak in person until now, so how would she know if he was being serious?

_This guy is such a pain in the..._

"I _just_ answered that," he snapped, pushing her against the wall. "And Harley... watch what you say," he chuckled, running the blade down her throat. "Ya see, doll, one wrong move and I might... _lose_ it like I did with the good doctor up there. That clear enough for ya?"

Harleen was at a loss for words, and, since she was being held at knife-point by the Joker, she nodded carefully. Scared as she was, she still didn't appreciate his blatant disregard for her comment. And... _doll_? What the hell was that? He licked his lips and picked the lock on the handcuffs, seizing her wrist.

"Hey! What are you doing? I-"

"Have no say in the matter," he said, finishing her sentence. "I break you out, you stay with me. I'm done talking about it. Unless... you have any... _objections..._"

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Clearly, this was not the time to be disagreeing with the man holding the knife. "N-not at all," she choked as he practically dragged her out of the building. "Why are we doing this so quickly? Isn't there..."

He laughed loudly, leading her towards a dark van waiting at the bridge back to the mainland. "This place is gonna be blown to Hell in about thirty seconds, and you're asking me 'why?'" Another laugh. "Harley, don't you know me at all?"

"Wait, what?"

His pace quickened, but she could see that he was rolling his eyes as he spoke. "I rigged the building with charges before breakin' you out. Hello!" She flinched as he turned and rapped her on the head with the knife handle. "I thought you were supposed to be... _intelligent _to be a doctor."

"You _what_?" Harleen was in shock What kind of a deranged fool are you? What the hell is _wrong _with you?" Harleen screamed, trying to wrench herself from the madman's grasp.

"Do you _ever_ stop asking questions? Just shut up and get in!" he barked, practically throwing her into the backseat. "Women... _Fuck_!"

The Joker yanked the door open and got in with Harleen ranting at him the whole time. "I cannot believe this! You psychotic, bat-obsessed bastard!"

"Would you shut the hell up?" he barked, signaling for the driver to take off as he clamped a hand over Harleen's mouth.

It was clear that she was starting to wear on his patience. Not that he had much of it to begin with, according to the news articles. The stunning silence that had been present vanished in seconds. As the van screeched and pulled onto the bridge, the whole building went up in a cloud of smoke and flying rubble, sending the Joker into a fit of hysterical laughter.

Harleen stared at him, eyebrows raised as she removed his hand from her mouth. "You sick, perverted bastard!" she shouted, giving him a slap. "There were _people _in there!"

Her timing had been horrid. He turned on her, slamming her against the window, hand at her throat. "I'm gonna say this one more time: You need to _shut up_." The last bit seemed to make his eyes blaze. A frightening sight if she'd ever seen one.

"Damn..." Harleen wheezed as he released her. "Pissy aren't you?"

He clamped a over his ear, rolling his eyes. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Because if I don't... someone's gonna get hurt... _badly_," the Joker snarled, waving the switchblade in her face. "And ah... my little friend here," he said, looking fondly at the knife, "has a slight tendency to... _bite_ when he's angry."

"Fine, fine. I get it," she snapped, pushing his hand away. "But... what do you think?"

The silence was worse than it had been previously. Just as awkward, but worse... somehow.

"About me..." she continued when he didn't answer. "Am I as crazy as everyone thinks?" Harleen fidgeted in her seat, her blond hair falling across her back.

_What the hell are you doing? _she mentally scolded herself. _He's psychologically deranged, and you're asking for his opinion about your possible insanity? Nice move..._

The Joker's eyes widened, giving her the impression that he'd swallowed something sour. "You expect _me_ to know? Pfft! I'm no shrink, Harley-girl. Ask someone who actually has an interest in those fucking labels."

Harleen quirked an eyebrow. "What did I tell you?

"About...?" His sarcasm was _so _encouraging.

"About my name, you dolt. My name isn't _Harley_, it's _Harleen_, you damn clown. Get it right for fuck's sake," she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

_I swear, men are all idiots,_ she thought bitterly.

"What the hell...?" he muttered popping a cigarette into his mouth as he looked her over. "You look like shit..."

_How fucking reassuring... _she thought, staring at her clothes. _I've been in Arkham for weeks, and he expects me to look like a bikini model? _

"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed."

The Joker sputtered, blowing smoke out the window. "What's _not_ wrong with them? You look like an accountant. I can't have a doll like you dressed like an accountant!" His underlying grin assured her that he was simply trying to piss her off.

"I... No! No way! Absolutely not! You are _not _turning me into your... _pet_!" Harleen spat the last word with venom, moving as far from him as she could. Why the hell should she do _anything _he wanted? After all, his little stunt three months prior had cost Harleen her career and, quite possibly, her sanity.

"Not your call, Harley. I got you outta there, so you owe me. And when I see something I want... I go after it."

She felt uncomfortable knowing that he saw her as his little captive; trapped in a corner with no choice but to do what he wanted. It was official: She was in hell. Harleen had gone from the freezer to the frying pan. And she had a feeling that it wouldn't be easy getting out of it. Especially if the Joker was running this show.

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I hope this was enjoyable, and that it put a picture in your heads. Please review.


	4. Disorder

**Disclaimer: **All characters in this fic are owned by DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight._ I only own my plot.

**Chapter 4:** Disorder

**A/N: **Bruce and Alfred debut here. Also, I know that people are reading this because of the number of hits. So, please review. I'm not here to give you all lectures, but it's actually the polite thing to do.

**Song:** _Toxicity_ by _System of a Down_

* * *

"This is _unbelievable_!" Bruce Wayne shouted, slamming the newspaper down upon the table, sending vibrations through the wood. His butler and old friend, Alfred Pennyworth, walked quietly into the living room with a breakfast tray, silently wishing that Bruce wouldn't treat the furniture in such a manner. It just wasn't civilized in his opinion.

"Breakfast, Master Wayne?" the Englishman asked, hoping that the piping coffee and fresh eggs would take the young millionaire's mind off of the tabloids long enough for him to relax a bit. Thankfully, Bruce was able to forget about the paper for a moment as he plucked the steaming cup of coffee from the tray.

The young man raised the cup towards the butler, a small smile on his face. "Thank you, Alfred," he said, adding the usual sugar cubes to the drink. Alfred's coffee was just what he needed to start the day. Even if it _had_ already started with the most horrible of news.

"Master Wayne, if I may ask, what were you shouting about a moment ago?" Alfred inquired, taking a seat beside Bruce. The elderly man smirked inwardly. Oh, he knew he didn't have to ask what the young master was upset about. After all, he always retrieved the paper in the morning, and read it before handing it over to the younger man. But, he felt that it might do the young master a bit of good if he were to talk about his distress rather than bottle it up.

At the mention of the article, Bruce's eyes widened and he slammed the coffee mug on the table, spilling the hot liquid on the newspaper. "Look at this!" the younger man cried, stabbing his finger at the rain-soaked front page. "It's unbelievable! It's madness! It's... It's..."

"The Joker," Alfred sighed, finishing the sentence. Picking up that paper, Alfred began to read aloud: "'After a shocking seven months of confinement in Arkham Asylum, Gotham's most infamous criminal mastermind, the Joker, has made his escape from the world famous prison. During his daring escape, the madman succeeded in killing several guards, as well as Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, the head administrator, and founder, of the asylum.' Well, you should have seen that one coming, sir."

Bruce buried his face in his hands. "For the love of..."

Alfred continued. "_'_A vehicle parked outside the asylum was seen leaving the building just seconds before the explosion. The impact of the blow appears to have instantly killed 1,107 of the 2,500 inmates, as well as twenty-seven additional guards.' Dear, God! 'Several others were found severely wounded in the wreckage.'"

"Don't you see it, Alfred?" Bruce huffed, throwing his hands up. "This city is dying! I can't keep up with my company, the mob, _and_ the Joker at the same time! Especially not now that we have another possible merger coming up. I'm telling you, this is madness!"

The butler stared at the paper. He never could figure out how the Joker managed to elude the authorities every time. Then again, nobody knew. The man was truly an insane genius. "Hmm... Master Wayne?"

"Dammit! The Joker has the worst timing! It's almost as if he _knows_ who I am and what's going on in my life! Damn him!" Bruce suddenly went off on a tangent, failing to notice that he had spilled his coffee all over the table and that poor Alfred was hurriedly wiping it up to avoid staining the fine wood.

"Excuse me, Master Wayne!" Alfred raised his voice to get Bruce's attention. "I do apologize, but there is something else that you might want to have a good look at," Alfred suggested, handing Bruce the newspaper, pointing to one of the paragraphs.

Bruce glared at the paper as he read aloud. "_'_Dr. Harleen Quinnzel, a former psychiatrist working for Arkham, was supposedly seen fleeing the building with the Joker...' Dammit!" Bruce roared, tearing the paper to shreds. "This is just _perfect, _Alfred. The doctor from Arkham, who was classified as certifiably insane seven months ago, is now a wanted criminal working alongside the Joker!"

"If you remember, Master Wayne, Dr. Quinnzel _was _on board one of the ferries that the Joker was planning to destroy the night of his apprehension. The doctor was probably very shaken from the whole experience. And, from what I have heard, sir, several people who were on those ships began to suffer from horrible bouts of insomnia, amongst other problems. It was all probably due to the shock of having their lives in the hands of a madman," Alfred said pointedly.

Bruce sat back down in his chair and rubbed his temples. "I know, I know. It's just so frustrating! Especially after..."

"Rachel and Harvey's deaths," the butler said gently. "I know, Master Wayne. I truly know how it feels to lose someone you care for. Why, I was crestfallen when your parents died, you know. I never thought that anything would happen to either them. I always believed that they would be here every day when you ran inside after school, and that they would be able to watch you grow into the kindhearted man you've become," Alfred said soothingly, resting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Rest assured, Master Wayne. Your parents would be very proud were they standing with us today."

Bruce had heard everything the butler had said, but he soon became immersed in his own thoughts. Thoughts about Rachel and Harvey...

_But Rachel... Rachel..._

"God, Rachel..."

They'd had an argument about Bruce's double life, during which Rachel had made herself very clear: She didn't like the idea of Bruce putting himself in danger. When he had told her to mind her own "damn business," she had almost walked out on him. And he hadn't been expecting _that..._

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

"All right. If that's the way you want it, Bruce," she said, turning her back on him. Frankly, she'd had quite enough. The last thing she wanted was to see some news report covering the death of Batman. She just wouldn't be able to bear it.

Bruce sighed, clearly not willing to consent to her requests. "Rachel..."

"What now?" she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her. A part of her mind began screaming at her, telling her that she should let him do what he wanted. While another part, her more sensible half, she assumed, told her to stand her ground. "This isn't a _game, _Bruce. You need to understand that."_  
_

He threw his hands up, eyes ablaze. "What is it you want from me? I'm only trying to do what's right..."

She turned on him, staring fiercely into his eyes. "Oh, really? You call trying to get yourself killed the right thing?" Rachel's eyes filled with tears, and it was clear the he knew what was going on: She was holding them back. "Just like _this_," she said, shoving a newspaper in his face.

Bruce barely glanced at the paper before pushing it away. "It was just a close call. Nothing more, Rachel."

Her eyes pierced his with a white-hot fury. A fury that Bruce had never seen from her before. "A close call? Is that really all it is to you? Fine! If you want to waste your life like this, then fine!"

"Rachel," he said, grabbing her shoulder. "It isn't a waste! I'm the only one doing anything in Gotham! If I stop now, then what? I'll live, but in shame. If I stand by and watch these people die while I have the power to make a difference... That's not being sensible. It's being a coward."

She shook her head and pulled away from him. "I'm done with this...Goodbye, Bruce."

"Rachel!"

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

"What am I supposed to do, Alfred?" Bruce muttered, burying his face in his hands. "I swear, this city is going to the dogs what with the mob and the Joker creating disorder everywhere they go..."

The butler chuckled slightly. "Well, what do you always do, Master Wayne? I can proudly say that I have never seen you back down in the face of evil. Ever. I don't think that now would be a good time to start, do you?"

"You're right, Alfred," the younger man sighed, leaning back in his leather chair. "I can't let him have his way again. I can't allow him to kill anyone else."

"Well said, Master Wayne. But remember this: even Batman has limits," Alfred said with a smile.

"I know, Alfred," came the reply. "But things will be different this time."

* * *

Please review.


	5. Don't Leave Me Hanging

**Disclaimer: **All characters used in this fic are the property of DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight. _I only own the plot.

**Chapter 5: **Don't Leave Me Hanging

**A/N: **Now we return to the Clown Prince of Crime and his little Harlequinn.

**Song:** _Riot_ by _Three Days Grace_

* * *

"I can't _believe_ I let you talk me into this!" Harley flailed around the apartment in her new apparel: A skin-tight black and red body suit that made her look like a jester. Go figure. Judging by that stupid grin plastered on his painted face, the Joker was clearly enjoying himself with a glass of whiskey, his dark coat thrown over the back of a nearby chair.

He grinned, biting the inside of his cheek. "It really doesn't look that bad," he laughed. "Aww... You're ruining everything with that face, Har_ley_. Lighten up."

Harley pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him furiously. Her usual serene expression had been wiped away by one of rage straight from the depths of hell. His words and laughter did little to lift her spirits. At this point, she was going to do everything in her power just to piss him off. But it seemed that her attempt wasn't having _any _affect whatsoever.

"There's something you should know," she spat, crossing the room and poking him in the chest with her finger. "I'm _not_ your goddamn plaything!"

Before she knew what had happened, she had knocked the whiskey right out of the bastard's hand. The instant she realized what she had done, Harley knew that she would be six feet under, facing the depths of hell and damnation. Or worse. But the feeling of dread was suddenly, and surprisingly, imprisoned behind a wall of accomplishment, blocking out her fears of an inevitable doom at the hands of a madman.

For a brief moment, she felt as though she could take on Gotham, Batman, her inner demons that had so cruelly tortured her. Unfortunately, Harley's sense of achievement was shattered and replaced with a horrid pain as she felt herself being slammed into a nearby wall; the stinging sensation growing rapidly and flooding her body like some kind of vicious poison. An ear-splitting shriek uncontrollably erupted from her lungs, only to be cut off by a rough hand over her mouth. The single thread that kept her body and consciousness linked was the pain. The bloodlust in the room was like a thick haze: disconcerting and suffocating.

The tip of the Joker's knife was steadily forcing its way through the tender flesh of her jaw; warm blood oozing to the surface of the wound that would permanently leave his mark, not only upon her skin, but upon her very soul. His grip on her throat began to constrict with every breath she took, until she was left gasping for even the tiniest bit of air.

"Let me... go..." Harley's words came out in small, painful gasps at irregular intervals, nearly losing consciousness each time. She cracked her eyes open, ignoring the slight film of gray obscuring her vision. Her captor was mere inches from her face, seemingly transfixed with the sight of blood trickling down her neck.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

As if reading her very thoughts, the Joker turned his harsh gaze to face her, and the eyes of the Devil himself began to bore into her, watching, waiting for her to move, even slightly. Harley faded in and out of the darkness, returning each time to stare into the scarred face of a demon from the pits of hell.

He growled as he rolled his tongue along the inside of his mouth, watching her intently. "Poor choice of words, doll."

Harley heard the harsh laughter escape his lips, and felt herself plummeting into the dark abyss below. The end had come and snatched her away, dragging her life into the pits. Oh, what had she done to deserve such a thing? She'd lived a good, honest life for the most part. And she'd done everything in her power to correct her past mistakes. So, why was she being punished like this? At the hands of a madman?

_I'm going to die... I'm going to die... I'm going... to..._

As she faded into the looming unconsciousness, surrounded by loud, familiar voices. She heard herself gasp as her failing heartbeat echoed through the empty void of her darkest dreams. Harley opened her eyes and found herself standing on air, surrounded by nothing but darkness and frightening sounds of the past. Blurred faces swirled around her, each bringing their own haunting words:

_"Can you really handle something like this...? ...not the kind of work I see you doing..."_

_"You're a failure... but a failure... what you are... you're sickening..."_

_"But... things couldn't get much worse, right?"_

_"Worthless! ...lazy, good-for-nothing... I hate you!'"_

_"Harley...? Harley... What the hell is wrong with..."_

The voices of people she knew; people she loved; people who had impacted her life at some point began spinning wildly around her within the void in which she saw herself standing. Their distorted faces flashed through her mind as if they were being torn from her memory by a vicious storm. One moment they were there, only to be swept away by an unseen force, completely wiped from existence within her now fragile mind.

_Let me go... Let me go... Let me..._

"Go!"

Harley awoke and found herself screaming. She knew that she was now in a different room than the one she had passed out in, regardless of the darkness that enveloped it. The only light was that of the moon that entered the room from the window. The silvery glaze fell upon a leather couch that was seated by a table, the wood glinting and catching her eye. She glanced around, suddenly realizing that she was on a bed, still dressed in her stupid outfit. She brushed her hair aside, and felt a strip of gauze where the Joker had cut her. The thought of him doing something so _humane_ was completely abnormal.

Harley jumped when she finally noticed the sound of the buzzing television in the room. It was staring at her from a cabinet set against the far wall that the couch was facing. Several messages scrawled across the bottom of the news screen, many of them moving too fast for her to read. When she turned her attention to the news report itself, she was horrified to see that the news reporter was standing in front of the wreckage of Arkham Asylum. The rubble had been blocked off by police, and several paramedics and helicopters were also on the scene, sifting through the rubble for any survivors.

"This just in," the reporter said. "The Gotham City Police Department has once again recieved a message to the city from the Joker. Let's take a look."

The screen went black for a few moments, giving way to a surge of static. The picture then showed, the camera focusing in on the face of the Joker.

"You want to put an end to this chaos?" His words were deadpan, serious, frightening. "Then Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. The 'Dark Knight' hasn't spread his wings for three days, and... just look at all the people who died in Arkham. You want order in Gotham, but you won't turn yourself in. You can't have it both ways. We tried doing this the easy way, but you wouldn't take it. So, we're gonna raise the stakes. Here's how it's gonna work: People will die every hour of every day until you turn yourself in. Don't try to hide, because the longer you hide, the longer it will take for all the bad dreams to go away. I know you're out there, and I _know_ you're watching this. Think about Gotham. Think about all the innocent people who will pay for your unwillingness to cooperate... Like this lovely girl here."

The camera moved from the Joker to a limp body in the corner of the room which Harley easily identified as her own_. _The television blared with the Joker's insane cackle, the camera then returning to him.

"It's still your decision, but ah... the clock. Is. Ticking."

The tape then focused on a concrete wall, where the body of yet another Batman impersonator hung, his face carved up into a smile; writing scrawled on the wall beside the body, a clear message written in the man's blood: "Don't leave me hanging."

The tape went black, but the audio remained, the Joker's sickening laughter ringing from the television set before it returned to the news broadcast. Harley sat back down on the bed, dazed at what she had seen.

"Don't leave me hanging."

Those words stuck in her head for some reason, and she was unable to clear them from her thoughts. She saw that message, that face, and heard his laughter everywhere. For some reason, even his manic laughter made her feel... safe. She found it to be somewhat soothing. But why? Then it hit her like a speeding train.

_Oh, heaven forbid... I'm... I'm in love with the Joker..._

* * *

I know this one is a little shorter than the others. In regards to the the HarleyxJoker thing, they just fit together. Please review.


	6. Plans

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics, and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight_. I own nothing but the plot.

**Chapter 6: **Plans

**A/N: **My personal interpretation on Harley's past is in this chapter.

**Music:** _Had Enough_ by _Breaking Benjamin_

* * *

Her dreams had grown hectic and chaotic. She found herself surrounded by those she had known and met, loved and lost. But, above all, her mother's face was particularly visible while the others appeared to be staring at her from within fun house mirrors. Harley watched as her hand moved, stretching itself towards her mother without command from her. In return, her mother stepped back, shaking her hanging head.

"Why?" Harley whispered. "Why did you leave me behind? What was so important... that you chose to leave us?"

She couldn't understand anything. She _knew _that her mother hadn't abandoned them. It had all been a mistake; a circumstance of "in the wrong place at the wrong time." It hadn't been her mother's fault at all. So, why was she asking such questions? And against her own will, too...

Her mother's soft eyes and delicate features looked up at her, a sorrowful glaze having washed over her usually cheerful face. "You don't remember... I left you because..." Harley watched in shock as a hand reached out of the darkness, grabbing hold of her mother's face. The hand pulled, tearing the skin, revealing the face of a stranger beneath. "_You're not mine,_" the new face said. "_You never were my child... I hated you, resented you, wanted to leave you for dead... Leave you to rot..._"

Harley's eyes widened as she shot upright, startled awake by the loud sound of breaking glass and swearing. She placed a hand on her chest, measuring her erratic heartbeat. A dream... It had all been a bad dream. Nothing more, and certainly nothing to be afraid of. She glanced at the clock that was sitting on the table beside the bed: 10:21. Harley swung her legs onto the floor, pulled the door open, and stormed down seven flights of stairs to the rec room of the apartment building.

She had always known that men like the Joker had goons, but she'd never expected them to be so immature as to wake a sleeping woman so suddenly. Marching to the door, she kicked it open, taking note of the broken handle, and stared into the room.

"What the hell?" Harley screamed, diving to the floor as a beer bottle came flying her way. "What the hell is wrong with you idiots?"

Harley rolled her eyes as she made her way into the room to find the Joker. A very unpleasant experience. She was tired as hell, had a throbbing headache, and had now been awakened by the sounds of the clown's incompetent goons having a damned beer party. How twenty-five to thirty men could make enough noise to reach the seventh floor was completely beyond her. Unless they had guns. Guns _might _have caused that much racket. She stared in awe, realizing that the entirety of the room was completely trashed with bottles, cigarette butts, cigars, lighters, matches, and clothing, that Harley didn't particularly care to see.

The sound of giggles and tantalizing whispers reached her ears, and Harley spun around, appalled to see several girls spread out with a large number of the men. Her gaze narrowed at the sight. How sickening...

_Not only did they have a beer party,_ she thought. _They turned this place into a whore-house!_

One of the drunkards spotted her and approached, deciding it would be a good idea to try dragging her into a corner. Harley screamed and clawed at the man's face, realizing that he must have been drunk to ignore the puncture wounds she had bestowed upon him. She screamed wildly, kicking the man as he tried peeling the form-fitting outfit from her lithe frame. Just when she thought all was lost, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang throughout the room, causing all activity to immediately cease. The man that had been handling her dropped to the floor in a heap, a bullet lodged in the back of his skull.

There was only one force on the planet that could control the mass of drunken idiots in which Harley found herself standing. And she knew that said force was pissed as hell. All eyes immediately turned towards the doorway where the Joker stood with a shotgun. The goons flinched as he stalked across the room, and dragged the shuddering Harley to her feet.

"When I get back, all this shit better be gone," he growled, discharging another bullet.

Several of the girls who lay sprawled out across the room bolted for the nearest exit, not wanting to be caught in the middle of the Joker's tirade. The goons, now free from the distraction of girls walking about in their pantyhose, gave the madman their full attention, not wanting to get killed with some damned bullet... Or worse.

"And get _that _out of here," the Joker muttered, pointing the shotgun barrel at the dead man. Without a second glance at the body on the floor, the Joker started down the hall, not even bothering to look back.

Harley hesitantly followed him, praying that he wouldn't take any of his horrid anger out on her. Although she felt better being away from the perverted men, his silence was just frightening. Although she had only been with him for a few short days, she had learned enough to know that the bloodlust radiating from his presence was more terrifying than anything Gotham had ever known. It was no wonder the city feared the man.

She sure as hell had no idea what he was thinking, but something in the back of Harley's mind told her that it had something to do with her. He stopped suddenly, causing her to waltz right into him. Her body went numb when she hit him, and she slowly backed a few feet away just to be safe. She wished she could just vanish into the void that was death. Anything to escape the suffocating rage that radiated from the demon she had been drawn to.

"You need something, _doll_?" he drawled.

There was a slight edge to his voice, and Harley could almost see the very face of the animal that clawed at the bars behind the mask, demanding release from the dark prison in which it was trapped. A sudden wave of relief washed over her, clearing the thoughts of macabre from her mind, as she attempted to relax.

"Well... Not really. Is there anything _you _need?" Harley couldn't believe what had just come out of her mouth.

_Holy shit! What the hell is wrong with you? _her sensible half scolded. _You're not in any position to be insinuating things like that! Are you really that dense? To him you're nothing but a toy, a puppet, a tool to be used as he sees fit! You can't relax this much around someone like him!_

Harley's more relaxed side immediately kicked itself into high gear, trying to reason with her rational thoughts. _What's the big deal? If he tries anything, I can handle it. Besides, he saved my ass, in case you failed to notice!_

Great. Now she was arguing with herself. Not much of a confidence-builder.

_Well let's look at the facts... He's a fucking psychopath! Can't you see it, Harleen? You've read about people like this! He's a twisted bastard with no moral conscience, and he cares about nothing but fucking up the world! Caring about other people is not within his skill set! What about having a normal life? What happened to that? What about everything you worked for?  
_

She shook her head, trying to shake away the little angel and devil that sat around arguing inside her head. _Shut up, both of you!_ Harley demanded. _I'm not listening to anymore of your shit!_ Harley covered her ears and screamed, trying to drown out all thoughts or feelings of doubt. _I won't listen to this anymore,_ she thought. _That part of my life is gone, dead! That part of me died long ago!_

"What the hell are you doing?" The Joker pulled her off the floor, and grabbed her wrist. Maybe she _was_ crazy after all. That game of his might have had some severe affect on her mental stability. "Don't go breaking on me now."

_See? _the angel said._ You're only a toy to him. Stop trying to fool yourself.  
_

That was true. So, he had saved her more than once. Big fucking deal. It didn't mean anything. The only reason he had dragged her ass out of Arkham in the first place, was because she could be of use to him. He had never planned to break her out in the first place. The idea had probably crossed his mind while on his way out the door. Besides, she knew that if he deemed her to be a waste of time, it would be easy to dispose of her. She'd just be another worthless victim for Gotham to make noise over.

"Hey! I've got something to say to you, dammit!" she shouted, smacking his shoulder.

The glazed look in his eye vanished, and he tightened his grip on her wrist; the small bones clicking together from the pressure. She stopped shouting and flinched, trying to pull herself away from his grasp. But she blocked out the pain in her wrist as the delicate little bones began grating against each other. The Joker turned on her, pushing her up against the wall. But instead of clamping her eyes shut, she stared back at him defiantly. Daring him to kill her.

But she knew he wouldn't. If he killed her, she'd be free from the strings that now tied her to him.

"Was there something you... wanted to say, princess?" He slid the knife from his pocket, letting the cold steel glide against her cheek, watching her shudder from the blade's icy touch.

Her voice seemed to have left her; replacing her confidence with frightful suspense. The little angel voice inside her head began screaming at her from the back of her mind. _I told you, Harleen! I warned you about this freak! Now he's gonna kill you, and everything you've worked for will die with you!_

The voices seemed to manifest itself when Harley experienced heightened emotions. Namely fear.

No... She'd made up her mind. She refused to let the demon in her head decide her fate. She'd fight it, even if it killed her. And if she died, then the voice went with her. But she wasn't going let herself die simply to kill the voice within. Harley closed her mind off from all emotions, locking them tightly behind a wall that could only be lifted at her will. Her eyes locked with those of the Devil, watching the flames of hell dance wildly within him.

"Do it," she choked, submitting herself to the Devil's will. "If you wanna kill me, then kill me. My life doesn't mean anything anymore."

The silence that followed seemed to make time stand still. The flames of hell appeared to be engulfing her mind, body, and soul, cutting her off from the world in an instant. She found herself unable to move, unable to breathe; trapped in the fiery depths of the underworld, doomed to stare eternally into the eyes of the Devil that was the Joker.

The images that clouded her thoughts shattered, and she was once again sent tumbling into that dark abyss.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

"Harley? Harley? You need to wake up now," a familiar voice whispered. "Harley, we need to talk, sweetie. Please, wake up.

But Harley didn't want to wake up. She wanted to stay where she was: Warm in bed, surrounded by the blankets that shielded her from the darkness and all the night terrors that plagued the youth of the world.

"Harley? Wake up. Harley, you _have_ to get up," the voice said again.

She shifted beneath the covers, suddenly more alert the second time around. The usually warm and familiar voice sounded different, somehow. It sounded... sad.

_Why? I don't get it..._

Harley cracked her eyes open and saw her father kneeling at the side of her bed, holding her little hand in his, resting his head upon his arm. "Daddy?" She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking dazedly at her father. "Daddy."

He looked up when he heard her meek little voice. His face was slightly flushed, and his usually cheery green eyes were glazed over with tears. She had never seen him like this before. He was always so strong, so calm and together. "Hi, honey," he said, giving her a weak smile.

"Morning, Daddy" she said sweetly. She rubbed her blue eyes once more and sat up, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a tight hug. He picked her up and sat on the bed, cradling the five-year-old tightly in his arms, gently rocking her back and forth. Her little eyes widened as his body began to tremble, tears falling gently onto the back of her pajama top. "Daddy, are you okay?" She had never seen her father cry, and now he was sobbing like a lost child.

"Harley... Your mother... she's gone," he said, squeezing her tighter. "She's gone, baby."

The little girl smiled, thinking that her words might console her father. "Did you forget, Daddy?" she asked. "Mommy went to Boston for Auntie's wedding."

"Yes..." he said with a nod. "But this time, honey... she's not coming home."

Harley couldn't believe what she was hearing. Not coming home...? That's what her parents had told her when Grandpa Quinnzel hadn't been able to come live with them. Because he had... died. Her mother was... dead? How?

"You mean she's... dead?" Harley's words came out in a high-pitched whisper. Being a child, Harley didn't know what death really was. But she knew just enough to know that it was something that kept her from seeing people ever again.

Her father sighed and nodded. "I'm sorry, Harley. She was going to call when she got there, but... there was an accident... and Mommy didn't make it."

"Mommy..." Her blond hair fell into her face as her bright blue eyes, the ones her mother had given her, filled with tears. "Mommy, no! Mommy, come back!"

"I'm so sorry, Harley. There wasn't anything the doctors could do to help her... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Harley awoke to the loud roaring of an engine. She opened her eyes, and found herself staring up at the inside of a van, her head resting on the Joker's lap. She glanced up to see that he was staring out the window into the dark. She began to rub the sleep from her eyes and found tears.

"You passed out," he said, closing his eyes.

Had she _missed_ something? Why did _he_ care what happened to her? _Did_ he care? Why was she in a van with him anyway?

"Where are you taking me?" Harley choked, sitting up straight. _I'm in a vehicle... with the Joker. Oh, crap. _

As if things weren't already weird enough. He had gotten her out of Arkham, killed the scumbag who had tried to violate her, and now this.

"To put it simply, we're waiting for the Batman," he muttered, opening the door before the engine stopped. She followed him outside and craned her neck up at the large building that stood before them.

Wayne Enterprises. One of the greatest multi-billion dollar business empires in the world.

The building must have had at least thirty floors and over two hundred windows. A few lights were visible in a few of said windows. Probably the offices of those working late. Harley looked from the building and back to the Joker, noting the sadistic smirk on his face.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

"Before you even ask, we're gonna start a game for the Bat."

Harley crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, still looking at the skyscraper. "Don't tell me this is another one of your _genius _plans to get the Batman to lose his cool?" Honestly, the Joker was the craziest son of a bitch that Harley had ever met. And she had met quite a few, when taking her shitty dating experiences into consideration.

"Do I _look_ like a man with a plan?" He took her by the chin, turning her face towards his. "I don't plan. I'm like a dog chasing cars, Harley. I don't _have_ plans. I just _do_ things. When you have plans, there's always something or someone out there that's bound to fuck it all up."

Before Harley could open her mouth, a wall of flames erupted from the building, sending a billowing cloud of smoke up over Gotham.

"Here." The Joker handed her a slip of paper and a can of paint. "Put that on the South side of the building."

She shrugged and ran around to the South side, glancing at the folded paper in her hand. "What the hell _is_ this?" Harley had no idea what the hell the Joker was up to, but she did as she was told, and sprayed the letters on the wall. Upon completion, she stepped back to get a better look at her handiwork. The letters dripped streaks down the wall, and Harley realized that the paint was a deep shade of red, giving the impression that the letters had been written with blood.

_He's just as the papers described,_ she thought with a grin. _A spontaneously insane genius. _

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Gotham Police Commissioner Jim Gordon sat at his desk with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, reading over a few records that had been faxed to his office. Several phones rang from the other room as the officers tried desperately to answer them all. Despite all the hell he and his men went through, Jim couldn't say he hated his job. He just hated knowing that the city was full of low-lives who sought to do harm to their fellow men. If he didn't do something about it, then no one but the Batman would. And though the Batman was a vigilante, Jim knew the man had good intentions. Much like himself, Batman sought to bring peace to the citizens of Gotham.

That was one thing they had in common.

_Maybe tonight will be the night I can get home on time,_ Jim thought, bringing the mug to his lips. He watched the phone on his desk carefully as he took a drink. Usually, when the work hours started drawing to a close like this, things started happening. Of course, that was to be expected, he supposed. Suddenly, the coffee mug flew from his hand as the phone began shrieking like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

_Just my luck, he thought,_ reaching for the phone.

"Commissioner Gordon speaking," he said into the receiver.

Detective Stephens' voice echoed in Jim's ear. "Commissioner, I apologize for the sudden call, but Wayne Enterprises has just been set on fire!"

"Shit!" Gordon shouted, slamming his fist onto the coffee-soaked desk. Things in Gotham had actually gotten _worse _since the Joker had been put in Arkham Asylum months earlier. It certainly seemed that the city's criminals were more afraid of the Joker than they were of Batman. That alone would explain why the mobs had started venturing out into the open again. And with the mobs running loose once again, the police had been busier than ever trying to round them all up.

"Sir, we have reason to believe that the Joker is behind it."

Jim rolled his eyes. _Of course. I should have seen this coming._ "All right. I'll be right there. Get as many squads down there as you can," he ordered before slamming the phone down on its base. He pulled his coat on and shoved a few extra clips into his pockets before heading outside and hopping into a patrol car. _I'll never know how that son of a bitch pulls these things off._

Once inside the car, Jim pulled his cell phone from his pocket, selecting Wayne Manor from the speed dial. Seeing how Bruce Wayne owned the company, it was only common courtesy to inform him of the situation. As the phone rang, Jim remembered that Wayne Manor had been burned down three years earlier during one of Bruce Wayne's crazy birthday parties. But even after the fire, Wayne had continued with his party antics for every holiday of the year that he deemed worthy. The "Playboy Prince of Gotham" never seemed to learn his lesson.

Jim pressed the phone to his ear, the other end of the call ringing three times before it was answered.

"Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking," the butler said upon answering the phone.

The officer cleared his throat, reminding himself to remain calm. "Evening, Alfred. This is Commissioner Gordon. I need to speak with Mr. Wayne immediately. It's an emergency!" The words all seemed to come out at once, and Jim lost track of his exact words.

"My apologies, Commissioner. Master Wayne just left on an important call," the butler said politely. "But I'll be sure to inform him of your call once he returns. Is there a message I could pass along to him for you?"

The Commissioner furrowed his brow. _Important call? But his company is... _"No, that's fine. Thank you, Alfred," Jim said, hanging up. The strangest thought had shot through his mind during the call: Was Bruce Wayne the Batman?

If Wayne _was _Gotham's Dark Knight, then everything would make sense. After all, the multi-billionaire could probably afford the high-tech gadgets that the vigilante used. At the moment, Gordon had more pressing matters than the identity of the Batman. But he couldn't ignore the fact that there were still a few more questions he wanted to have answered: Is Bruce Wayne the Batman? Who is responsible for the technology he uses? And, more importantly: Who is the Joker?

* * *

Please review.


	7. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based the characters in _The Dark Knight._ I own nothing but the plot.

**Chapter 7: **Nightmare

**A/N:** This is very enjoyable for me to write. I can only hope that you, my readers, are enjoying it as well.

**Song:**_ Pandemonium_ by _Apocalyptica_

* * *

It was like a terrible nightmare to him. His subconscious mind was spinning as the scenery flew by the Batpod. Hard as he tried, he couldn't get Rachel out of his head. She had been with him through just about everything. Even through the deaths of his parents, which had been the first time in his life that he had felt like his whole life had been destroyed in a single swoop. Rachel had been there all those years, guiding him through the grief and the pain, leading him through the darkness.

That whole time, she had been there.

The pain from his past had been even more unbearable than it was now. How was Bruce supposed to cope with such a loss? The death of his mother, who had died because the killer had been afraid that she'd attack; the death of his father, his hero, the man whom he had aspired to follow, had been a terrible blow to him... Even now, as one of the most successful and powerful men in the world, he wondered who would be next. Alfred? Lucius, maybe?

Sometimes, the thought of their deaths was enough to send his mind reeling with questions... and old memories that he'd rather soon forget.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

"Why did they have to die? Why didn't somebody do something?" a young Bruce demanded, curling himself up in the corner of his father's office in the mansion. "Someone should have saved them, Alfred! They shouldn't have died!"

Alfred approached the boy with solemn eyes. "Master Bruce, there was nothing that could be done for your parents. It was already too late," the man said soothingly, pulling the seven-year-old into a tight hug. "I'm sorry..."

The boy sniffled and swiped at his tear-filled eyes. "But... Nobody even _tried_ to save them! They just stood there... and let them die..."

"Bruce?" A meek voice echoed across the room from the doorway. "Are you all right?"

"Ah, Miss Dawes. Please come in," the butler said, welcoming the young girl with a wave of his hand.

Rachel slowly walked into the room, the door dwarfing the girl's tiny frame. "Bruce... I'm sorry," she said, kneeling down beside him, touching his trembling shoulder. "I'm so sorry..."

The young boy scowled at his friend."Being sorry isn't going to bring them back!" Bruce snapped, leaning closer to Alfred. "They're gone..."

"Master Bruce, that is no way to talk to a lady," Alfred scolded gently, rocking the trembling child slowly.

"I-It's alright, Alfred. I can see he's upset. I'll just come back later. Um... I guess I'll see you later, Bruce."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

"How much longer do we have to put up with that blood-thirsty freak terrorizing our city?" Gordon muttered when he arrived at the smoldering Wayne Enterprises. He still couldn't believe that the Joker had escaped _again_. It was too much for him to handle with the load of work he had on his desk. "Just how many people are you willing to kill to find the Batman? Is he the one you want, or is there someone else?"

Several fire trucks and patrol cars were already on the scene when the Commissioner arrived, and the few workers who had been in the building when the Joker sent it up in flames were being escorted to the paramedics to ensure that they hadn't been harmed by the flames or the fumes.

"Jim!" a voice called over the blaring sirens. "Commissioner Gordon!"

Gordon nearly passed out when he saw Lucius Fox waving him over from one of the paramedic vehicles. "What the hell?" The sight of Lucius sitting in the back of the vehicle was enough to turn Jim's blood to ice. As much as he hated to admit it, the Joker's chaotic presence in Gotham was like a bloody cancer; infecting and damaging everything it came in contact with.

Lucius's clothing was blackened from smoke and ash and he was holding an oxygen mask to his face, giving Gordon a pained smile. "What's with the face, Commissioner? I'll be all right. Nothing a little rest won't fix."

Jim knew better than to believe that. It wasn't that he didn't trust Lucius, but he'd had one too many experiences with the phrases "I'll be all right," or "Everything will be fine."

"Everything's gonna be fine, Rachel. They're coming for you!" Those had been Harvey Dent's very last words to Rachel Dawes, the love of his life. The woman he'd loved enough to try and take Jim's son away... The woman who, inadvertently, had driven Gotham's White Knight to insanity.

As he had told Jim after kidnapping his wife, Barbara, and their two children, "I lied to her, Jim. I told her that everything would be fine, even when I knew it wouldn't."

The thought of that almost tragic night for his family, made his head spin. "Lucius, you have to be kidding. You could have been killed." Jim completely refused to let this die. Lucius was in a critical condition, but he wouldn't admit it. The Commissioner sighed heavily. The man was every bit as stubborn as Bruce Wayne.

"So, any luck catching Batman?" Lucius grinned, changing the subject. "Or are you still chasing down Sasquatch as a primary suspect?"

Something in the pit of Gordon's stomach, told him that Lucius had a pretty good idea of who Batman was. He knew better than to ask, though. Even if Lucius did know who the Batman was, Gordon highly doubted that the man would cough up such information so casually. It was certainly reasonable, suspecting Lucius Fox of being the man who provided the Dark Knight with his gadgets. After all, a man of Lucius' talent wasn't exactly common.

"Absolutely not. It's difficult tracking down a man like that. Besides, he only comes out at night. But the rumors you hear about him on the streets are quite the riot," Jim said with a chuckle. "He's about as hard to track as some of the mob bosses in this city, just... less of a threat."

Jim supposed that there had always been some suspicion in the back of his mind about Bruce Wayne being the Batman. But until tonight, he hadn't really thought about it. All the pieces fit perfectly. After all, Bruce Wayne was a multi-billionaire who could, more than likely, find someone to create such high-tech weapons and vehicles. The phone call to Wayne Manor had all but confirmed it, given the man's late-night absence.

Lucius chuckled. "Of course. What about the Joker? Any sign of him?"

The Joker. The son of a bitch responsible for so many deaths and so much destruction. The man acted like life was just a gamble to see how long one could last before losing everything on the table and sinking into the void of death. Nothing, not even death, could frighten a monster like that. To the Joker, death was just another part of the game.

"Commissioner!"

The Commissioner was lost in his thoughts, unaware of the world around him. Like a statue frozen in the flow of time. So much hatred and pain had been brought to Gotham through one man. How could one man stir up so much terror and chaos in a city the size of Gotham? What was behind the Joker's mask? Had there ever been a man behind that cruel and heartless visage? The questions and possibilities flooded his head, making him a stranger lost in the world.

The loud revving of an engine startled Jim back into the present, the many questions suddenly pushed to the back of his mind. The man turned, spotting the growling metal beast that was the Dark Knight's steed. The man of mystery himself stood not three feet from the Commissioner.

"Any messages, hints... _jokes_?" the last word seemed to have been spat from the Knight's mouth with venom as he scanned the smoking building with hard eyes. "Best to keep an eye out for bodies, too..."

Why was the Joker so eager to reveal Batman's identity? What would that get him? Was he just another token in the Joker's crazed games? Each question led to another and another, eventually leading to questions about how and why the Joker was as well as who and what he was.

"It seems we found a message painted on the South side of the building," Jim said, handing the Dark Knight a photograph, wondering if he could make any sense of the painted mess. "As per his usual 'fun,' it all looks like it was written in blood. Charming..."

_SESIRPRETNE ENYAW. LATIPSOH ENYAW SAMOHT. RONAM ENYAW. What the hell is this...? What are you trying to do, Joker?_

Nothing fit. Nothing at all.

All of Gotham hid in fear of the Joker, while one man risked his life time and time again to keep the citizens of Gotham safe from harm. And how did they repay him? With protests and rallies demanding that Batman reveal himself to the city. They had no idea what they were asking for. If the Dark Knight were to reveal himself to the public, the Joker would have won everything on the table. Including Gotham.

The mysterious man took the photograph to the Batpod, ignoring the Commissioner's demands to "explain what the hell is going on!" He held the photograph in the moonlight and flipped it so that the lettered side was facing the moon. Then it hit him.

_It's backwards... WAYNE ENTERPRISES. THOMAS WAYNE HOSPITAL. WAYNE MANOR. Wayne. He knows... But how...?_

* * *

Shocking, I hope.


	8. Without Rules

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on Chris Nolan's characters in the movies. I own absolutely nothing but the plot. Dedicated to Heath Ledger and based on his Joker.

**Chapter 8: **Without Rules

**A/N: **Flashbacks _are _needed

**Song:** _Worlds Collide _by _Apocalyptica_

* * *

Bruce was completely abhorred at what he had discovered the previous night. He sat on the leather sofa in the living room, staring blankly at the news station on television. He half expected the news anchor to announce that the Joker had left them another tape which would include Batman's identity. Much to his horror, the anchor actually _did_ announce that the Joker had left another message for Gotham. The screen image on the screen then gave way to darkness and then to static before the message began to play.

"Gotham has three days left to live. _Three._ If you haven't shown your face to the city by then... everyone will pay for your cowardice. All of Gotham will suffer because of you. People will continue to die, so you might want to make a decision sometime soon. You can't hide forever because..." He paused, wicked eyes glinting. "I know the truth: There's no going back. You've changed everything... _forever._ And in the end, you're just a freak... like me!"

_Damn him... _

Perhaps he had changed things. But hadn't it all been for the better? Hadn't he brought peace, if only a little? Gotham no longer saw the mysterious vigilante as a hero. He had been cast out, used as a scapegoat, a tool. The citizens had been horridly fooled by a madman. The identity of Batman in exchange for peace? The Joker would never hold himself to such a bargain. He would surely continue to bring chaos to Gotham..._  
_

The screen went black again and the Joker's insane laughter filled the room, penetrating Bruce's thoughts. He grabbed the remote and turned the television off in hopes that the laughter would stop. But it didn't. It tormented his mind like a demon in his head.

_Just shut up..._

Then he saw_ it_ flash before his eyes, like a film. The night she was first put in danger by the Joker... The night he had almost lost Rachel...

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

A gunshot erupted throughout the room, startling the guests terribly. The Joker, followed by several thugs, walked through the crowd of terrified guests as if it were all a game.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the Joker announced, walking out of the elevator. "We are tonight's entertainment! I only have one question: Where is Harvey Dent?" The crowd remained silent save for the slight whimpering of a few women clinging to their dates. The Joker wandered around the room, the guests shrinking away if he came too close. "You know where Harvey is? You know who he is?" He approached one man and grabbed him by the chin. "You know where I can find Harvey? I need to talk to him about something. Just something, a little. You know, I'll settle for his loved ones," he cackled, watching the crowd's reaction with a smirk.

"We won't be intimidated by thugs!" an elderly gentleman snapped, catching the Joker's glare. It seemed that the gentleman only thought better of his words when the Joker grabbed him by the collar.

"You know, you remind me of my father..." He pulled a switchblade from his coat pocket and held it near the man's mouth threateningly. "I hated my father!" he barked, yanking on the man's coat.

A hesitant voice finally made itself known. "Okay, stop!"

The madman turned and saw Rachel Dawes standing on the other side of the room, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. He pushed the man towards his thugs, and approached Rachel, messing with his greasy hair. "Well, hello, beautiful. You must be Harvey's squeeze. Hmm? And you are beautiful."

She rolled her eyes, clearly bothered by his comment.

He circled her like a predator, waiting for her to dart away to Harvey. "You look nervous. Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got 'em?" The Joker pulled her closer as she tried to back away, taking her face in his gloved hand, pressing the knife against her cheek. "Come here."

Rachel struggled to turn her face from him, but his grip on her tightened.

"C'mere. Look at me. So, I had a wife... she was beautiful... like you, who tells me I worry too much, who tells me I oughta smile more, who gambles and gets in deep with the sharks... Hey. One day, they carve her face. And we have no money for the surgeries. She can't take it. I just want to see her smile again. Hmm? I want her to know that I don't care about the scars. So, I stick a razor in my mouth and do this..." He traced the scars with the tip of the knife. "... to myself. And you know what? She can't stand the sight of me! She leaves. Now I see the funny side. Now, I'm always smiling!"

Rachel took advantage of the moment and kneed him in the groin, backing away swiftly. She wouldn't let him touch her again.

He doubled over with laughter, finding pleasure in her horrified face. "A little fight in you. I like that."

"Then you're gonna love me," a gruff voice said, charging at the Joker. A fight swiftly ensued. the Joker and a couple of the thugs tried getting their hands on Batman, but failed. The Joker proceeded to grab Rachel by the arm and dragged her to a window, holding a gun to her head.

"Drop the gun," Batman ordered.

The Joker grinned. "Oh, sure. You just take off your little mask, and show us all who you really are! Hmm?" He pointed the gun behind himself and shot through the glass of the window, pushing Rachel onto the roof and holding onto her wrist.

"Let her go," Batman demanded, carefully approaching the Joker.

The Joker hesitated. "Very poor choice of words," he cackled, releasing Rachel's arm.

The Dark Knight dove out the window after her, grabbing the shrieking woman's hand and pulling her close, bracing for impact. The two of them landed on the hood of a car that was parked by the curb.

Rachel gasped, clinging to his cape. "Let's not do that again."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Harley awoke in a nauseated daze, wrapped snugly in a warm quilt. Her eyes opened slowly, still lazy from sleep as she pushed herself to her knees. Where was she? And what had happened? Blue eyes nearly popped out of her head as she took in her surroundings. She didn't have any memory of being brought upstairs from the van. Harley bolted upright, having felt that she was being watched by those manic eyes. The eyes she had found herself dreaming about. She sighed with relief when she heard him shouting at the thugs down the hall.

"I don't want excuses, you idiot! I want results! Now move!"

Gunshots and screams filled Harley's ears as the door opened and the Joker stormed in. He slammed the door and locked it, sitting on the edge of the bed. She had to fight back a smile as he began muttering strings of swearwords to himself.

"You're looking peachy today," Harley said mockingly with a smile. She knew he was pissed as hell, but she didn't really care. He hadn't killed her last night, or any of the other nights she had been there. So, as far as she was concerned, there wouldn't be a reason to kill her now.

Or would there?

The Joker grabbed her by the arm and pulled her closer, seemingly mesmerized by her face. Harley avoided his gaze, trying to keep herself from passing out from the gut-wrenching nausea. She looked away from his eyes, her own falling on the painted scars. "You look nervous, princess. Is it the scars?"

Harley looked away from him and fixed her gaze to the floor. She felt the bed shift, and her face was tilted upwards to meet his hard eyes. She tried to keep her mind on other things, like the significance of the painted message and her sudden bout of dizziness.

"Look at me!" The Joker yanked her off the bed, forcing her to look at him. Harley wanted to cry for some reason. It wasn't anything he had done, but she just wanted to let everything out at once. She had gone most of her life without confiding in someone, probably because the only woman she had ever wanted to confide in had died when she was young. She felt her eyes water and she shut them tightly, telling herself not to cry. Her mind went blank, her body moving on its own as she found herself clinging to the Joker's coat. Her body shook as she fought the tears, but her nerve to maintain control had failed.

"I'm sorry," she choked, feeling his gaze on her. It killed her to let go, but she was afraid of how he would react to her near emotional breakdown. Harley sat back down on the bed, trying to piece together an excuse as to why she was crying.

_I'm pathetic,_ she told herself. _I'm just a pawn to be used in his games. I'm nothing more to him than that. Men never understand things like that, and he's the last person that would understand. I shouldn't even be here! I should be dead! Why didn't he kill me?_

"You wanna know how I got 'em, don't you?"

Harley lifted her head and watched him toy with the switchblade. Why did he always carry that thing around? Did it have something to do with the past? Where did the scars come from? Hundreds of questions tumbled around in Harley's head. And she seriously started to believe that she was falling for him even harder.

"You wanna know, don't you?" He sat beside her, watching as she closed the space between them, eventually leaning her head on his arm.

Her eyes darted about the room, trying to find something, anything, to stare at. His constant fidgeting indicated that he wasn't used to such contact. It only made sense. The citizens lived in fear, giving him power over their precious city. But she hadn't cowered. Harley had stared him in the eye and laid down the law.

Maybe that's why he kept her around.

"I want to know..." Harley said, barely above a whisper. "Tell me... how it happened..."

"Well, my father... was.. a drinker. And a _fiend._ And one night, he goes off _crazier_ than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself; he doesn't like that. _Not... one... bit._

"Me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. He turns to me, and he says... '_Why so serious?'_ He comes at me with the knife... _'Why so serious?' _He sticks the blade in my mouth... _'Let's put a_ smile_ on that face...'_ And..."

He took the blade to his mouth, imitating the way he had been cut. Harley stared in horror, eyes welling up with tears again. She couldn't believe it. How could anyone do such a terrible thing? She buried her face in his coat, and cried; she wasn't crying out of fear, but out of pity. She was crying for him, for all the pain he had carried inside and out; for the wounds that would never heal. All she wanted to do, was take all that away; to show him that he wasn't the only one who had been left in pain. Harley clung to the dark coat, feeling comforted just by being near him.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

It was torture, living in the dark. Unable to share himself with his loved ones. He had Alfred to confide in, but it was just so different from talking to Rachel. She had understood him perfectly, almost as well as she understood herself. Perhaps he had relied too heavily upon her. And now, she was gone, having left him behind to face the world on his own. He hadn't even been able to give her a proper burial.

Now, she was just like his parents and Harvey: Gone

It had been dumb luck that the Joker had chosen to crash Harvey's fundraiser in Bruce's penthouse. That explained how he'd been able to save Rachel. She'd been right there, fighting a madman in order to save Harvey. What good had he done by locking the District Attorney in a closet? Had he simply allowed the Joker to kill Harvey, Rachel would still be alive.

And she would _hate _him for letting Harvey die.

The trembling man had mentally beaten himself for weeks on end after her death on that horrid night. He remembered it so clearly... He had been too late to save her. The sky had lit up like the Fourth of July when the bomb went off. He may have been tending to Harvey's burns at the time, but his gut had told him that Gordon hadn't made it in time. The memories of that fatal night tortured him, and all he could think about was how he had failed Rachel.

How he had let the Joker kill her.

_It's my fault... My fault... _

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

The Joker sat in the interrogation room at MCU, handcuffed, with a small lamp giving off the only light. Large windows were set into the heavy brick wall on one side and the heavily bolted door sat opposite of the Joker. Jim Gordon entered the room, the door buzzing as it was opened. He crossed the room and took a seat in the chair across from Gotham's Clown Prince.

"Evening, Commissioner," the Joker hissed, licking his bottom lip. He was clearly enjoying the disturbed look on the Commissioner's tired face.

Jim ignored the greeting, if you could call it that, and got right down to business. "Harvey Dent never made it home," he said, lacing his fingers together on the steel table. Jim was getting fed up with all the chaos that the Joker had been creating.

The Joker fought back a grin. "Of course not."

"What have you done with him?" Jim leaned forward on his arms, waiting for the response.

"Me?" the Joker said innocently. "I was right here." He held up his shackled hands for the Commissioner, setting them on the table. "Who did you leave him with? Hm? Your people? Assuming, of course, that they are still your people... and not Maroni's." The mobster's name was spoken with a slight edge. "Does it depress you, Commissioner, to know... just how alone you really are? Does it make you feel responsible for Harvey Dent's current predicament?"

Jim narrowed his eyes at the Joker, trying to send the message that he wasn't going to put up with any of the man's bullshit. "Where is he?"

The Joker rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. "What's the time?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Well," the Joker leaned forward. "Depending on the time, he may be in one spot, or several."

Jim pushed himself up out of the chair, resting his palms on the table. "If we're gonna play games," he said, removing the Joker's handcuffs, "I'm gonna need a cup of coffee." With that, Jim simply shoved the handcuffs in his pocket and walking to the door.

"Ah, the 'good cop, bad cop' routine?" the Joker chuckled, watching Jim's every move.

"Not exactly," the Commissioner said with a slight grin as he left the room. The lights suddenly went on, momentarily blinding the madman, and the Batman, who came out of nowhere, slammed the Joker's head into the table.

"Never start with the head, the victim gets all fuzzy," the Joker said, blinking several times. "He can't feel the next-" Batman slammed his fist on the Joker's hand on the table. The Joker took the hit without so much as twitching and stared at the Dark Knight. "See?"

Batman sat in the chair across from the madman, glaring at him with piercing blue eyes. "You wanted me. Here I am," he growled.

The Joker leaned forward on the table. "I wanted to see what you'd do. And you didn't disappoint. You let five people die. Then, you let Dent take your place. Even to a guy like me, that's cold."

"Where's Dent?"

"Those mob fools want you gone so they can get back to the way things were. But I know the truth. There's no going back. You've changed things... forever," he said, avoiding the question.

The Batman narrowed his gaze. "Then why do you want to kill me?"

"I-I don't want to kill you!" the Joker laughed. "What would I do without you? Go back to ripping off mob dealers? No. No... no. No, you... you complete me."

Batman's glare intensified, and he growled. "You're garbage who kills for money."

"Don't talk like one of them, you're not!" the Joker snapped, pointing to the officers that were watching through the windows."Even if you'd like to be. To them, you're just a freak... like me! They need you right now, but when they don't... they'll cast you out... like a leper! See, their morals, their code: it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these, uh... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster; I'm just ahead of the curve."

The Dark Knight grabbed the Joker by the collar, dragging him across the table. "Where's Dent?"

"You have all these rules, and you think they'll save you," the Joker chuckled.

Batman slammed the bastard against the wall, trying to control himself. "I only have one rule," he snapped.

The Joker licked his lips. "Oh, then that's the rule you'll have to break to know the truth."

"Which is?"

"The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules. And tonight, you're gonna break your one rule," he smirked as the Dark Knight tightened his grip.

"I'm considering it," Batman growled threateningly.

"Well, there's only minutes left, so you're gonna have to play my little game if you want to save one of them."

Batman blinked confusedly. What the hell was the Joker talking about? "'Them?'"

"You know, for a while there, I thought you really were Dent. The way you threw yourself after her," the Joker smirked. In an instant, the Joker was flipped onto the table as Batman grabbed a chair and wedged it under the doorknob.

"Look at you go." The Joker pulled himself from the table and grinned. "Does Harvey know about you and his little bunny?"

Batman slammed the Joker's head into one of the windows, leaving several small cracks in the glass. "Where are they?" he demanded, throwing the criminal to the floor.

"Killing is making a choice," the Joker said in a lecturing tone.

Batman hit him in the head, sending the Joker reeling. "WHERE ARE THEY?"

"You choose between one life or the other. Your friend the District Attorney, or his blushing bride to be..." the Joker cackled as Batman hit him again.

Batman was seething as the Joker laughed again. "You have nothing.. nothing to threaten me with. Nothing to do with all your strength," he choked, as Batman pulled him off the floor by his shirt. "Don't worry... I'm gonna tell you where they are. Both of 'em. And that's the point: you'll have to choose. He's at 250 52nd Street. And she's ah, on Avenue X at Cicero."

The Dark Knight slammed him into the wall again, kicked the chair away from the door, and stormed out.

* * *

Two flashbacks. Both crucial. Please review.


	9. Chaos

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters _The Dark Knight._I own nothing but the plot. Dedicated to Heath Ledger and based on his Joker. Haha!

**Chapter 9: **Chaos

**A/N: **Computer issues impeded my story progress.

**Song:** _Ion_ by _Apocalyptica_

* * *

"So, do you have a name or what?" Harley asked, examining her newly painted nails. She had painted them a bloody shade of red to go with her clothes, and they looked absolutely perfect.

The Joker turned and raised an eyebrow at the question. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" He leaned against the wall in the warehouse where all his little gadgets were kept, watching as the thugs pit the rottweilers against each other. He knew damn well what she meant. He just didn't want to openly admit that he'd nearly forgotten his name. But she didn't need to know that. It was his business.

Harley groaned, and leaned against his arm. "Do I _always_ have to explain myself to you?" she demanded with a sigh, crossing her arms. Blue eyes stared at him incredulously as she continued. "Isn't there something... _else_ I can call you? Something... something nobody else knows about? Something like... oh, I don't know... a _name_? _Everyone _has a name."

He ignored her, flipping the switchblade around in his hand, only to have it vanish. "What are you doing?" he asked, studying the smirk that appeared on her face. Lucky for her he wasn't dying to kill something... or at least carve it up.

Harley merely smirked. "Waiting for you to give me an answer," she replied, hiding the knife behind her back and stepping away. "So, you got an answer for me yet?"

"Hmm?"

Harley glowered at him. "Didn't you hear _anything_ I just said? Anything at all?" She hopped on top of a crate, and crossed her arms and legs as she muttered, "Ass."

"Jack," he said, holding his hand out for the knife. In his opinion, women were completely irrational when it came to the simplest of things. They acted like the whole damn world revolved around them and their insatiable desire for attention. Complete bullshit, really.

Her eyes lit up. "Is that your name?" she asked hopefully, hopping off the crate and handing him the knife.

He turned his back on her and strode out of the warehouse without another word, knowing she'd follow. The fog that had fallen over the harbor was what he needed to get away.

She sighed, distressed that she couldn't see a damn thing thanks to the fog's shadowy clutches. "He's so... so... _stubborn_! I cannot believe how _insensitive_ men are! It's outrageous!" As she went off on a tangent about how completely and utterly heartless men could be, the Joker grabbed her from behind, and she began to scream.

"You can stop screaming, princess," he whispered, resting his chin on her shoulder. Harley had a good mind to kick him a few times for scaring the living shit out of her, but doing that would guarantee her a one-way ticket to the depths of the underworld.

She pulled herself away from him, trying to seduce him into talking. "Then tell me... Is that your name?" She wanted to know everything about the so-called monster that was Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime. He had told her about the scars, but that was only one of the many mysteries that surrounded him.

"I know what you're doing, Harley," he said flatly. "I know what you want... It's written all over your face. But... there's something you have to do before I tell you any more_ secrets_." He pushed her against the wall. "You're going to help me get what I want."

"And just what is it you want?" she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned against him, feeling very daring. She had seen firsthand that he wouldn't let anyone take what was his. And clearly, _she_ was his. She belonged to him, and no damned force on earth would get him to relinquish what he had claimed as his own.

He leaned close to her ear, and she could feel his breath on her neck. The words seemed to slide off the tongue of a serpent; the eerie edge of his voice sending a chill through her body. "This city deserves a better class of criminal, Harley. And I'm gonna give it to 'em... We just need to take care of the _source_..."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

_"You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. And I won't kill you because you're just _too much fun._ I think you and I are destined to do this _forever_..." _

The words echoed in his head as a constant reminder of all the pain and suffering that the city and its citizens had gone through at the hands of a madman. He had tried to cleanse his mind of those maddenning words, but there was something that kept bringing them back.

And Bruce _hated _it.

"Something bothering you, Master Wayne?" Alfred entered the living room with a steaming cup of black coffee. He set it on the end table beside the couch where Bruce sat unmoving, staring at the blank television screen. He had been there for five hours, since three o'clock that afternoon, if Alfred remembered correctly; frozen in time; locked in a fierce battle with himself.

As Alfred turned on his heel to return to reading the newspaper in the kitchen, Bruce said, "Alfred... how did he know? How did he find out who I am?"

The butler picked up the remote and turned the television on to the news station as Bruce groaned in protest. Alfred watched the muted screen for a few minutes before setting the remote down on the table and whispering, "You might want to watch this next broadcast, Master Wayne. It could very well be the answer to your questions."

Bruce sighed and turned his attention to the screen.

"I'm Terra Bower, live on Westchester Avenue, where the brutally mutilated corpse of Mr. Bruce Wayne's lawyer, Coleman Reese, was found here," she pointed across the street, "in this alley just blocks away from his 52nd Street apartment." The woman crossed the street to the blocked-off police line before resuming her report. "Davis Christian, a Medical student at Gotham University, discovered the body and reported it to Gotham City Police Department only two hours ago."

The news anchor followed an officer, whom Bruce immediately recognized as Detective Stephens, into the alley, where Reese's body lay beneath a bloody sheet, a joker card lying on the ground.

The Joker's card.

"A note," the reporter continued, "believed to have been written in Reese's blood was found on the wall, stating that Reese was to thank for 'revealing the identity of Gotham's Dark Knight.' The message, as well as the brutal murder, is assumed to be the work of the Joker. Police are now..."

The woman continued speaking as the camera moved to the wall, showing the bloody letters, beneath which was the Joker's sign: two black circles drawn above a bloody bat symbol. Clearly, it was meant to represent the Joker's eyes... and his scarred smile.

"Due to the damage done to the face, Reese's body has been identified through a driver's license and credit cards found on the body. Further research into the murder is scheduled to be undertaken at MCU and Gotham Central Hospital, where the body will be housed for autopsy. I'm here live with Gotham Police Commissioner James Gordon. Commissioner," she said, turning to the officer, "how will you deal with the constant threat of the Joker here in Gotham?"

Jim Gordon stood by the anchor, his hands shoved in his coat pockets with a stressed look on his tired face. "We're doing everything and anything we can to find and apprehend the Joker as soon as possible. This madman has wreaked havoc upon our city for far too long, and it's high-time he be brought to justice."

The reporter trailed off as Alfred turned the volume down a bit. Bruce couldn't believe it. When Lucius had told him that Coleman Reese had voiced his suspicions about his client being the Dark Knight, he hadn't really considered what lengths the Joker would go to in order to get that information. Now he knew, and the results... were catastrophic.

Yet another person he had failed to protect.

"Master Wayne, there's something else you might be interested in," the butler said. The younger man glanced at the elder man confusedly, watching him leave the large study. Alfred returned moments later with a folded sheet of paper in his gloved hand. He handed it to Bruce and put his hands behind his back. "Miss Dawes gave it to me before she went after Mr. Dent, asking me to give it to you at the right time. I have thought about giving this letter to you several times since I received it, but decided against doing so. I hope you'll forgive me, sir."

Bruce gently accepted the letter from the butler, staring at the folded letter hesitantly, finally finding the courage to open it.

_Dear Bruce,_

_I need to be honest and clear. I'm going to marry Harvey Dent. I love him and want to spend the rest of my life __with him. When I told you that if Gotham no longer needed Batman we could be together, I meant it. But now, I'm sure the day won't come when you no longer need Batman. I hope it does. And if it does, I will be there, but as your friend. I'm sorry to let you down. If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people and yourself._

_Love, now and always,_

_Rachel_

That was all he needed. The truth. Bruce stood up and, followed by Alfred, headed to the elevator hidden within the study that would take them down to the basement for his armor, tucking Rachel's letter away in his pants' pocket. The elevator opened in the "cave," and Bruce spotted the new blueprints and list of materials Lucius would need to rebuild the tumbler lying on a table. While Alfred searched the computer for any sightings of the Joker, Bruce suited up, pulled himself onto the Batpod, and listened to the engine hum and roar to life.

"Master Wayne, this was found in the mail today," Alfred said, and handed him a letter marked with the Joker's mark. Bruce took the letter and tore it open, glaring angrily at the sheet of paper inside.

"Tonight. Gotham Harbor."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Harley sat on the dock, staring at the moon's reflection through the fog as its silvery glow shimmered across the rippling water. She only wished that Jack would sit still for more than thirty goddamn seconds. He constantly paced around, muttering something about the Batman every now and then. That, and then some.

"Give it a rest, Jack," she sighed, shaking her head at him. "You have an unhealthy obsession with the Batman, and you know it."

He stopped pacing, turned to look at her, and nearly doubled over with hysteric laughter. Harley tilted her head slightly to the side, raising an eyebrow at him. She really didn't think it was all that funny. Her comment wasn't meant to be humorous in the slightest. Harley turned her attention back to the water, waiting for the Joker's uncontrollable snickers to die down. She stared at the water once again, her eyes suddenly drawn from the reflection of the new moon to that of a woman she didn't recognize.

_Is that... me?_

The woman she saw didn't look like her at all, save for the crystal blue eyes and blond hair that framed her gentle face. She had a sudden urge to reach out and touch the glass-like surface. A desire to know if the face she saw was really her own. But her contemplation didn't last long.

"An obsession? Is that_ your_ diagnosis, or the doctor's?"

She turned with a start, and found the Joker crouched behind her. Her initial reaction was to smack him for scaring her again, but she found herself lost in his manic eyes. More than anything, she wanted to know what he hid within them; wanted to know what he hid behind the paint. But more than that, she wanted _him._

Harley pushed him over onto the creaking boards, sitting on his chest, clutching the collar of his shirt. "There is no doctor anymore, Jack. You of all people should know that much. Harleen Quinnzel died a long time ago. She doesn't exist anymore," she whispered slyly.

"Hmm. That's funny," he said. "I distinctly remember you telling me, just a few days ago, that your name was _Harleen, _and that you were a shrink at Arkham. Any of this sounding familiar?"

She rolled her eyes. "That was _before _this. _Before _I had what I have now. I just wasn't ready to let that part of me die. In all honesty, Harleen died almost a decade ago. I was just playing the part because I didn't know what else to do."

"You were..." he trailed off, distracted by the faint sound of a revving engine that was quickly approaching. He was obviously thrilled that the Batman was coming to join the game.

Harley saw the frighteningly excited look in his eyes, and hopped off of him as the sound of the roaring engine drew closer. The rumbling was much closer than it had been moments before. The sputtering of the exhaust pipe echoing across the foggy harbor. The moon was the only light in the cloudy sky, and thunder growled and flashed in the far distance. The choking engine came to a stop, and the Dark Knight emerged from within the fog.

The Joker was trembling with excitement. "It's about time you got here... Bruce."

"You wanted me. Here I am," he growled, moving his cold glare from the Joker to Harley. "You're... Dr. Harleen Quinnzel..."

Harley twitched at the name, and snapped, "No, I'm not! Damn!"

"Never argue with this one, Bat. She's got quite a temper," the Joker cackled as Harley grabbed his arm.

The Batman's eyes narrowed. "What have you done to her, Joker?" His rough voice dropped a bit, the words came out like a fierce snarl.

"Me?" he said innocently. "I haven't done a thing. All I did was break her out of Arkham. She chose this of her own free will. Oh, when will you learn, Bat? When will you finally see the truth? The only sensible way to live in this world is _without rules._ And if you can't break your one rule, you'll be bound for the rest of your life." The Joker steadily began circling the Batman. A temporary silence between predator and prey. "The day is coming, Bruce. Gotham _will _burn, and _you_ will be the one to blame. They already hate you for what happened to Harvey, so what's to stop them from hating you when this city goes up in flames?"

The man shook his head, but failed to clear out the Joker had said. "As long as people like you exist, I won't stop defending Gotham."

The Joker laughed. "You just don't get it, do you? There_ is _nobody like _me_. I'm the only one, and I don't plan on going anywhere for a long time. Introduce a little _anarchy... _upset the established order... and everything becomes _chaos. _I'm an agent of chaos, Bruce. And you know the thing about chaos? It's _fair_..."

* * *

That last line is classic. Heath truly created an intriguing version of the Joker.


	10. Everything Burns

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on Chris Nolan's characters in the movies. I own absolutely nothing but the plot. Dedicated to Heath Ledger and based on his Joker.

**Chapter 10: **Everything Burns

**A/N:** Please enjoy.

**Song:**_ Burn _by_ Apocalyptica_

* * *

To Bruce's horror, his resolve to remain in the light steadily began to waver. It terrified him to know that the Joker's words were getting to him, forcibly disrupting his thoughts. Impulse steadily began to take the place of his judgement, trapping it behind a thick haze of doubt.

"The world isn't the happy place that everyone likes to think it is. This city is proof of that. No matter how many people want it, this city can't be turned into something it's not. Gotham is a _permanent_ part of the underworld; no amount of righteousness can change that."

He watched the cruel smirk make it's way across the Devil's face, and growled, "You just kill people for money. You think that's fair?" The Dark Knight was thoroughly convinced that the man before him was the Devil incarnate; that he was trying to drag Gotham and it's inhabitants down to the depths of hell.

"How many times do I have to say it? It's not about the money, Bruce. It's about... sending a message: _Everything burns._ These uh, civilized people that you're fighting for, will destroy each other when everything falls apart. That's just the way these things work." The Joker was like a wild fire: Spreading chaos and anarchy every chance he got. "I know I've told you that before..."

The Joker's sickening laughter cut through the tense feeling in the night air, and Batman decided he'd had enough. Instinct took over and he charged, knocking the Joker to the ground.

"It took you long enough," he chuckled, drawing the switchblade from his pocket. "What was that for? Gotham? Harvey? Maybe... your precious _Rachel_?"

Bruce grimaced, his hand closing on the Joker's throat, pushing him against the concrete. "Shut up...!"

"You can't bring yourself to do it, can you? Gotham's Dark Knight _refuses_ to cross the line that holds him back," the clown pouted with a laugh. "How _sad..._"

The Dark Knight winced as something clamped itself tightly to his arm. Three large rottweilers had snuck up on him, biting and clawing at his armor. He released the Joker, turning his attention to the half-starved dogs that began circling him. As one of the dogs lunged for his throat, he grabbed the beast by the scruff of the neck and flipped it over, sending it, howling, to the ground. Another clamped its jaws onto his leg, sinking it's teeth through the dark material.

He kicked the dog, throwing it to the ground with an excessive amount of force, leaving it gasping for breath. He scanned the surrounding area, waiting for the third dog to attack. The harbor was silent, and the Joker had vanished with Harley. Suddenly, the he felt a sharp pain in his head, and crumpled to the ground. His vision blurred to darkness, and the last thing he heard before passing out was:

"Why so serious?"

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

The butler sat at the dining room table, tea on the table and newspaper in hand as he flipped through the obituaries. So many people had died, and in so short a time. Gotham was truly falling to pieces at the hands of the Joker, and it seemed that no one could stop the tyrant. The doorbell sounded, interrupting his thoughts, and Alfred placed the paper on the table along with his reading glasses as he hurried to the door.

As per usual, he held one arm behind his back, and opened the door.

"Evening... Alfred, isn't it?" the Joker snickered, leaning against the door frame. "

Alfred backed away from the open door, wondering what had happened to Bruce. The Joker waltzed through the door, following the terrified butler with a laugh. A young woman walked in behind him, carrying a rope.

Alfred glanced at the woman and let out a gasp. "Harleen, I thought you were... dead," he whispered. The man had been sure that, after seeing her body on the news, the beautiful young woman would have been long gone from the world. But there she stood, staring him right in the face.

The Joker looked from Harley to the butler, confused. "You know him, princess?"

Harley sighed and nodded. "Yes. Alfred's an old friend of my late grandfather's... Not that it matters now." She held the butler at knife-point against the wall, masking all emotion from her face and voice. "Don't move."

It was at that very moment that the old butler realized that the woman named Harleen Quinnzel truly had died. The woman who had forced him against the wall was not the same as the young child who had cried so much after her mother's death. This woman was not Harleen Quinnzel, but merely the Joker's marionette.

A fierce blow to the head sent Alfred to the floor, and as his eyes slowly closed, he saw, for the last time, the face of a sobbing child.

The face of Harleen Quinnzel.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Bruce's eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying face-down on the ground. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, trying to clear the dizziness from his head. Upon regaining his composure, he scanned the surrounding area, realizing that he was still in the harbor where he had found the Joker. The Batpod was still there, only a few feet away, but the Joker and Harley were nowhere to be seen.

"Shit!" he hissed, stalking towards the vehicle. He swung his leg over the metal body, and found a small black box sitting on the control panel. He tore the packaging open, only to find a small radio of some sort. It was already turned on, and the static was blaring from the speaker.

There was a note taped to the device that read, "Warehouse 13."

"What the hell is he up to?" He tucked the radio onto his belt and sped off towards Warehouse 13. It was only a short ride from where he had been, but he wasn't willing to run the risk of walking, especially when he had a vehicle that could easily outrun the Joker's thugs, should they be around.

Bruce turned the pod to the right, riding right through the open doors of the large building. On the far wall, another message had been left for him in bright red letters: "Alfred Pennyworth_." _His heart began racing, and he stepped on the gas, speeding through the harbor to get to the main street. He pulled onto the busy freeway in front of a large truck, ignoring the angry shouts and honks that came his way. His main priority was to get back to Wayne Manor in time to save Alfred.

The Batpod sped through the open wrought-iron gates of the manor, and parked in front of the mansion. The doors were unlocked. A very bad sign. Alfred never left the doors unlocked. He pushed the door open, and frantically began searching for the butler. He rushed to the study, pushing the heavy oak doors aside. On the wall, opposite the large bookshelves, the Joker's insignia sat waiting for him. Just below the face, smaller letters had been painted in a deep crimson red: "Avenue X."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

When Alfred awoke, he gently lifted his head, struggling to open his tired eyes. He attempted to move his arms, realizing he was bound securely to a chair. With a weary groan, Alfred attempted to take in his surroundings. Not much could be seen, as the room was dark, lit only by the faint stream of moonlight that flooded through the clouds and into the window. After allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he noticed several large barrels stacked around him, and the scent of oil that made him nauseous. He sighed, worrying about Bruce's safety, and hoping that the young master wasn't in a situation such as this.

Or worse.

The door creaked open from behind, and someone entered the room. The manic snickering of the Joker filled Alfred's ears, and he felt the icy point of a knife against his throat. "Don't you have anything to say? Anything at all?"

The Joker was taunting him. Trying to get the butler to say something he'd deeply regret. Alfred kept his mouth shut, unwilling to give the bastard what he wanted. It would be far better to suffer than give into, as Harvey Dent had once said, "this terrorist's demands."

"Hmmm... I guess not..."

A frightening silence followed those words, and the blade left his throat. Alfred was unusually horrified, anticipating the worst. The clouds had covered the moon, creating an eerie darkness in the large room. The thought of the Joker lurking about in the darkness sent shivers down the old man's spine. The point of the blade returned and Alfred gasped, his heart pounding violently, and his breathing growing quick and shallow. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room for a few seconds; light glinting off the blade that was so close to taking his life.

"You look nervous..." the Joker laughed, staring into Alfred's eyes. "Is it the scars...?"

Rain pounded against the window, and the demon stepped back to peer at Alfred from the darkness. The face that struck terror into the hearts of Gotham's citizens was watching the old butler's every move. The face a murderer; the face of the Devil; the face of the Joker.

"Why don't we give Bruce Wayne... a little call?" The Joker pulled a radio from his pocket and held it in front of Alfred, holding down the button. "Go ahead. Talk to him."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

The radio on his belt began crackling with static, causing Bruce to grab hold of and stare at it. "Alfred? Alfred!" he shouted, shaking the radio desperately. A scrambled voice crackled through the static, and Bruce clung to the device hopefully.

"Evening, Bat. Having fun?" The Joker's hysteric snickering came through the static, and Bruce wished he had choked the bastard when he had the chance.

"What have you done with Alfred?" the Dark Knight growled into the speaker. He heard the Joker's laughter on the other end, and he ground his teeth together.

"Batman, it's me." Alfred's voice came through, calming Bruce down a bit. "I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to say this, but-"

The radio crackled with static and the sound of a horrified scream barely came through before the radio on the other end cut off. Batman stepped on the gas, weaving his way through the heavy traffic to get to Avenue X. At this point, all he could do was pray that Alfred would still be alive when he got there.

"Ooh... Looks like that's all we have time for tonight," the Joker said, feigning disappointment as the radio returned to static.

_Alfred..._

A large vibration shook the ground as Bruce turned onto the designated street. One of the buildings was engulfed in flames, and billowing smoke flooded the rainy sky above. It seemed that the Joker had set off a bomb of some sort. The roar of the Batpod's engine came to a screeching halt, and Batman jumped off the vehicle ignoring the sirens that were behind him as he charged into the flaming building. When he reached the third floor, he found that the source of the flames was coming from behind a closed door.

He kicked the door down, and found Alfred in the room, severely burned and unconscious. With a shout, Bruce picked him up and jumped out the nearby window. He hit the ground as carefully as he could to avoid hurting the elderly man any more than he already was. He handed Alfred over the the paramedics, powerless to do anything but watch as they lifted his old friend onto a stretcher and drove off to the hospital. Before anyone could get to him, the Dark Knight sped off on the Batpod. As he neared Wayne Manor, the radio crackled again and the sickening voice came through.

"Everything burns."

* * *

Poor Alfred.


	11. Sanguine

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight. _I own nothing but the plot. Dedicated to Heath Ledger and based on his Joker.

**Chapter 11: **Sanguine

**A/N: **I'd like to thank **Silential** for helping me with this chapter.

**Song:** _S.O.S (Anything But Love) _by _Apocalyptica and Cristina Scabbia_

* * *

Once Bruce reached Wayne Manor, he removed his armor and quickly changed into some jeans and a t-shirt, ignoring the many suits he had hanging in his walk-in closet. He hurried down the stairs into the large garage, hopped into the Lamborghini, and sped off to Gotham General Hospital, which had been reconstructed during the Joker's absense, to see Alfred. Taking precautions, he called Alfred's cell phone, which was answered by one of the nurses who was tending to the man's injuries. She relayed the butler's condition to Bruce, and informed him that he would be allowed to visit for a few minutes.

Bruce pulled into the parking lot, tossing his keys to a nurse outside, and ran through the hospital doors straight to the elevator. From what the nurse on the phone had told him, Alfred had been placed in the ICU on the fifth floor. The elevator doors opened to the fifth floor, and Bruce rushed down the white hallway to the door that led to the ER unit. He pushed the doors open and approached the desk, where a worried young nurse was making a call.

She glanced at him in surprise and hung up, giving him the impression that she had been trying to contact him, and led him to Alfred's room. She pulled back the curtains and watched solemnly as he entered. Bruce stood silently over the butler's bed, horrified at the injuries that covered his feeble body. The old butler was covered by a single white sheet, probably to avoid putting pressure on the wounds, and practically coated in gauze, blood seeping through the thin sheet, leaving dark sanguine blotches in several places.

Bruce eased himself onto the stool beside the bed, and rested his head on the bed's railing. How could this have happened? How could he have _let _this happen to Alfred? He couldn't help feeling responsible for the injuries that had been sustained on his old friend. He glanced at Alfred's quiet expression, and felt as though his parents had died all over again.

Lucius Fox and several of Bruce's late-working employees had almost lost their lives during the fire at Wayne Enterprises just a few nights prior. And he had failed to protect them then, just as he had failed Alfred now. He hadn't been able to anticipate the Joker's actions, and that simple mistake could cost Alfred his life.

His eyes began filling with tears. Alfred had been in his life for as long as he could remember. The old butler had been with him for years, through anything and everything. He had raised Bruce after the deaths of his parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. And since that tragic point in Bruce's life, he and Alfred had developed a powerful bond, much like the one Bruce had shared with his late father.

But now, seeing his old friend in such a terrible state, broke his heart. He wanted so much to take Alfred's fragile hand in his own, and tell him that everything would be fine. All he wanted at this very painful moment, was to ensure that Alfred would make a full recovery.

It was his only desire.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

The spontaneous plot to capture Bruce Wayne's butler had gone smoothly, and, as a result, had left the Joker in a damn good mood. As Harley patiently waited in the room for him to show up, she decided to use said change in his disposition to her own advantage. Irritant and bored out of her skull, Harley fell backwards onto the couch, smacking her head against something on the end table. Rubbing her head, she sat up, spotting a small pile of worn books on the table.

Shifting her position, she began sifting through the books, examining the titles. _Crime and Punishment, The Aenid, The Descent, Inferno, Pergatorio, Paradiso, Theogony, _and various texts on demoliton and ballistics. One of the texts was bound in a white cover with gold letters on the front and spine: _Paradise Lost. _The cover was worn, and even burned, in some places. Harley cautiously opened it and began flipping the pages, noting that several pages had been marked; some of which had writing in the margins that she couldn't have read to save her life.

Within moments, she was engrossed in the text, wondering what purpose this held. The door opened sometime later, and Jack tossed his coat over the back of the couch and sat down. Flipping through the channels, he glanced at Harley, wondering what the hell she was doing.

"What the hell are you doing with that?" he said, staring at the book in her hands.

She shrugged and snapped the book shut, placing it back on the table. It didn't take long before she became bored again. The lights were off and it was already dark outside. The only light in the room, except the television, came from the moon, which sent rivulets of silver light streaming through the window. She gave Jack a sideways glance, noticing his bored glance resting on Gotham's pathetic police force as they searched the streets for him. The police hit the target dead on when it came to finding that Jack was behind something, but apprehending him was a different area in which they failed altogether.

Harley suddenly found herself playing with the switchblade; listening to the _click _as the blade shot from the handle. She glanced at him again, finding that he wasn't paying any attention to anything but his own thoughts. Seeing her chance, she grabbed his collar, pushing him down and sitting on his chest. She had always been a bit extroverted at heart; always afraid to show it out of fear of being judged by others. But now, she couldn't be seen by anyone other than an utterly confused Jack, and for that, she was grateful.

Her mind screamed, begging her to make a move instead of thinking about it so damn much. Her absolute truth surrounded her now. The truth she had been too blind to see for years was now perfectly clear. She was destined to create chaos and anarchy; to prove to all the foolish people that inhabited the world that the civilization mankind had dreamt of for centuries was, in the end, unattainable.

Civilization would, one day, cease to exist and come to a screeching halt.

She refocused herself on the task at hand; knowing that she had to act quickly, before something in his head snapped, or she'd lose what might be her only chance. Her thoughts faded and she let her feelings take control, finding that her incentive to have her way was overwhelming. She lowered her head, resting it on his chest, listening to the heavy beating of his heart, as her thoughts and feelings fell silent. She wanted to be so much closer to her murderous hostage; unable to help that she was madly in love with a cold-blooded killer.

The silence in which she found herself didn't last long at all. In an instant, she was on her back on the floor, her hands, which still held the knife, pinned above her head in a deathly grip. Dread filled her, and thoughts of her death flooded her mind, drowning her desires in an enveloping darkness. Instinct broke free, willing her to escape the approach of death's dark embrace. Fearfully envisioning every painful moment of her imminent descent into the jaws of Hell, she shut her eyes, and let it fly.

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

A familiar voice rang through his head, and he knew that someone was there beside him. The voice was trembling, shaken, distraught. But he knew that voice better than anyone. He didn't need to see his visitor's face to know who it was. And if nobody was there, then he'd know that his mind was playing tricks on him. His eyes opened, and he saw the younger man seated beside the bed, resting his head in his hands, muttering to himself. A pain shot through his body; his wounds were taking their toll at last. He glanced at the gauze that covered his charred flesh, noticing the dark patches that decorated the white material.

He moved his left hand, ignoring the throbbing pain that shot up his arm. He reached for the younger man's arm, closing his hand slowly around his wrist. Bruce lifted his head, and Alfred saw that his cold blue eyes were blood-shot.

"Alfred..."

He smiled at Bruce, watching the sorrow leave the young master's features. Bruce took Alfred's hand in his own, clasping it as gently as possible to avoid further damaging it.

"Thank God... you're alive..."

**6 - 7 - 6 - 7**

Seconds passed, seeming longer than they should have. Harley felt her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes still shut. She found that her arms were free, and stretched in front of her. Her cyanosis blue eyes opened, and what she saw made her wish she had died. Her hand was tightly closed around the handle of the knife which was embedded in Jack's shoulder. She dropped her hands, staring in horror as the ichor stained the fabric of his shirt. The insouciant expression on his face only made her stomach sink as she inched away.

She jumped when she felt her back hit the wall, and she pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands.

"Harley..." Jack's fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade, fire taking root in his dark eyes that belied the severity of the wound. Wrenching it free, he appeared oblivious to the blood that trailed down his chest.

"Never did know when to play nice, did you?"

Puzzled at the relative calm in his voice, she parted her fingers, peeking through at him. He snickered at his own joke, balancing the fresh blood on the flat of the knife.

"Lucky for you..." His gaze met hers as he moved towards her, seizing her hands and forcing them above her head once more. He pried her knees from her chest, straddling her, and pinning her body to the floor. "I don't make those mistakes," he said, leaning towards her.

She gasped, a thrill running down her spine as the breath was knocked from her body. His build shocked her, and her frequent attempts to free herself were rendered useless by his position. His expression of grim amusement didn't change, but she knew that what he saw was pleasing. The pain in his shoulder being fused with the desiring flame alight in his eyes.

He leaned towards her, resting his head on her shoulder. "See, a guy like me... I know what I want. Do you know what it is you want... _Harley?" _

His lips brushed her ear, coaxing an eager breath from her throat. She felt the sharp edge of the blade kiss the flesh of her collarbone, being drawn slowly across, the pressure somewhere on the line between pain and pleasure.

"Do you know. What. You. _Want?"_ Each word was punctuated with a controlled nick across her collarbone, the steel biting her flesh as she left bloodied half-moons in the palms of her hands.

A gasp left her mouth before she could stop it, but when she thought about it, she realized that she was where she wanted to be. She was with him; she needn't think, but live in the moment and take the pleasure as it came. She shook her head, waiting painfully for the pleasure that was soon to come. A dull heat built at her core, her breath becoming shallower as she reveled in his touch.

She didn't need to hear the laughter, for she could already feel the tremors running through him as he fought to contain it. He relaxed his grip on her hands, murmuring to himself strings of phrases and words that didn't make sense, but she had a hunch that they were connected to her somehow.

His hand fell from her wrists, and she took the opportunity to reverse their positions, forcing herself on top once again. She stared into his eyes, watching as the fire steadily died down. She had him where she wanted him, yet she felt empty still. Gazing into his dark eyes, she found the answer that would fill the empty void in her mind. She wanted to see him, not as the Joker, but as himself. She had fallen madly for the man behind the mask, a man that hadn't been seen for years. His face had been hidden from the world by a foolish act inflicted upon him.

He had buried himself with a horrid past, adopting a new life, a new identity, anything to hide from the world that scorned him. She knew what she wanted now, and she would have it at any cost. She let her trembling fingers graze his face, wanting more than anything to wipe that painted grin away. She rested her head on his shoulder, and whispered, "I know what I want."

But the look in his eyes told her that she wouldn't be getting _that _from him. At least not now.

She knew better than to argue. She'd already seen the hell he'd created in Gotham, sending the city's pathetic denizen's scattering like ants. She'd bide her time and wait. Wait for the right time. For the opportune moment. It always came around sometime, he'd said so. The cold point of the knife against her throat sent a chill down her spine. The blade slid down her neck towards the collar of her shirt; the material split as the blade slid further, and she sighed as her mind became numb to everything but pain and pleasure.

A cry of pleasure escaped her lips as the sleeves were pulled from her arms, revealing her bare skin. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra, fully exposing her bare chest. She reached down and wriggled out of her pants before repositioning herself over him. She moaned with delight as she felt his hand pass over her opening, and her hips stole towards the eager touch, wanting more.

Her own hands made their way down his chest until they went past his belt. Ignoring it, she went straight for her desire, freeing him and positioning herself over him. She slid down, gasping with pleasure as he entered her. She ground her hips against him, her mind screaming that she was almost at her limit.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out, feeling the flame within her growing with every passing moment. Light flashed behind her eyes, and distantly, she heard herself moaning. Unable to contain herself any more, she reached her limit, and collapsed, resting her head on his shoulder. She ran her hands across his face, reveling in the feel of his marred flesh beneath her fingers, knowing that someday soon, she would see with her own eyes.

Her eyes began to close and her mind began to spin with thoughts of him.

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Please review.


	12. Fallen

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight_. I own nothing but the plot.

**Chapter 12: **Fallen

**A/N: **Twisting things up.

**Song:** _Elect The Dead_ by _Serj Tankian_

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Her head was spinning uncontrollably, not knowing which way was up, which way was down. Drowning in the enveloping darkness that kept her tightly bound as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Hundreds of voices_, _some she recognized, and others she didn't_, _echoed through her head. All of them inaudible, drowned out by the others. But there was one that she could identify through the commotion of words. It was barely above that of a whisper and, for all she knew, it could have been a dream. The voice that struck terror into the very core of Gotham was like a beacon of light through the nightmarish shadows that embraced her.

Harley awoke with a start, and found herself wrapped in a blanket on the leather couch. She tore the blanket from her body, vaulted from the couch and began to search every inch of the room for Jack, with no success. Once again, she was alone, finding solace only in the memory of weeks past.

When would she see him again, if ever?

The mere thought of living her life in wonder, haunted her. It couldn't happen. It wouldn't... would it? Not after everything she'd been through with him. She reminded herself that he was the Joker, and that he had a blatant disregard for the welfare of others. He was an insensitive bastard, to put it simply. But, she didn't fit into the categories of "victims" or "cronies."

Or did she?

But she couldn't shake the memory that made her feel as if her life had come to a screeching halt.

The night after the abduction of Alfred Pennyworth, Harley had overheard a couple thugs in a bar talking about a death that had occurred in the area. She shrugged it off, finishing her scotch in silence before wandering out onto Gotham's dark streets. She took a shortcut down an alley on her way back to the apartment building, and found a bloodied switchblade wedged into the brick wall.

Pulling the blade from the wall, she immediately recognized it as the Joker's. The usually silver blade was coated in blood that couldn't have been more than a few hours old. She picked up the pace, almost at a run, but slipped and fell on wet ground. Staring at the ground on which she had fallen, she recognized a bat symbol drawn in blood. Under normal circumstances, she would have suspected that Jack had left the mark, but she hadn't seen him in at least a day. She turned on her heel and ran back to the apartment, not even bothering to clean the ichor from her clothing.

She raced into the building, and found one of the goons, Derek was his name, if she remembered correctly, waiting for her. She questioned him about the knife she had found, but he just shook his head in silence. At that moment, she felt as though her entire world was careening off a cliff. It couldn't have been his blood, she told herself. Just because she had found his knife there didn't mean anything. Then she remembered the thugs in the bar that had been talking about a death in the area. Harley felt her legs buckle, and she collapsed to the floor in a fit of tears.

Derek's silence, and the arm he wrapped around her was confirmation enough.

Jack was gone.

After mulling the events over in her head over the past few weeks, Harley had finally reached a conclusion: Jack had been murdered. As violent and cruel as he was, Harley knew him better than anyone else did. He had told her things that nobody else knew. Things about himself.

He had been murdered by Gambol's thugs or the Batman. Though it was true that Gambol's thugs would have jumped like wild dogs at the opportunity to kill the Joker, Gotham's Dark Knight might have lost his sanity and killed the Joker to avenge Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent. Harley was leaning towards the latter.

If the Batman, Bruce Wayne, _was_ the one responsible for killing Jack, and she had no doubt that he was, then he would be seeing Rachel and Harvey very soon.

In Hell.

The night she had found the knife, had been the night that her heart had fallen from the height of her newfound happiness; sending her spirits into depression.

If this was how things were meant to be, then Gotham and the Batman would die at her own hand.

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Short, but simple and to the point.


	13. Just the Beginning

**Disclaimer: **All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics and are based on the characters in _The Dark Knight._ I own absolutely nothing but the plot.

**Chapter 13: **Just the Beginning

**A/N: **To be continued in _Into The Abyss _(part II), and _Falling Into Madness _(part III).

**Song:** _Path _by _Apocalyptica_

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Several thoughts flew through Bruce's mind as he awkwardly balanced the breakfast tray as he carried it up the stairs. Under normal circumstances, Alfred would be sitting in the dining room with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, while Bruce slept in until about noon. But due to the old butler's current condition, he couldn't possibly carry anything around, much less walk up and down the stairs of Wayne Manor. After being released from the hospital four days earlier, Alfred's doctor had instructed him to avoid any strenuous activities and to stay in bed until he healed.

And so, Bruce had taken up the responsibilities that normally befell Alfred. But Alfred's body, as the doctor had said, couldn't handle any physical tasks, even something as minor as walking up the stairs to rouse Bruce from the extended stupor he called sleep. Bruce was feeling terribly uneasy, as he had been for at least two weeks. Strangely, there had been no sign of the Joker since the night he had made the attempt on Alfred's life. It wasn't exactly unusual for the lunatic to go missing for extended periods of time, but something wasn't quite right.

He turned the handle of Alfred's door, and pushed it open. Alfred was propped up on several pillows to cusion his scathed body. The television was turned on, and the old butler was watching the Channel 9 news while trying to keep his head level with the screen. Bruce set the tray on the small TV table that sat in front of Alfred, and set to cutting the eggs and sausage while watching the screen intently. Nothing major had happened in Gotham since the Joker's disappearance two weeks earlier, which seemed to set everyone, save Bruce, at ease.

He glared at the screen, half expecting the news anchor to announce that another threat had been made by the Joker. But to Bruce's shock, the announcement never came. He stood there staring at the screen in awe for around ten minutes, before he came to his senses.

Once Bruce finished preparing the breakfast, Alfred thanked him, and Bruce left the room, gently closing the door behind him. He went down the stairs two at a time, and headed to the "basement" beneath the manor. The elevator door slid open, and Bruce walked into the large concrete room that contained his Batsuit, and other utilities.

He punched a few numbers into a keypad on the wall to his right, and a large computer with several monitors slid out from behind a panel in the wall. He took a seat, staring at the blinking monitors.

_What in God's name is going on? Why would he attempt to kill Alfred, and go into hiding when he failed? What is he up to? Something's not right..._

Bruce had only pieced together a small part of the mystery that clouded his thoughts, but the worst was yet to come. But something deep within his consciousness told him that the real battle was yet to come.

This was just the beginning.

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Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy the other two installments. 


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